


Push me to the Edge

by Undertheweather21



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undertheweather21/pseuds/Undertheweather21
Summary: After a run-in with someone from his past, Yamcha just wants to give up, but when his favorite, almost forgotten cousin Goku comes back into the picture his life begans to repair itself.





	1. I can't win

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS! ALL THE CREDIT GOES TO THE CREATOR OF THE SERIES, AKIRA TORIYAMA AND THE OTHERS AS WELL! 
> 
> Just something I thought about..I always wanted Yamcha to have a family, because I really love him as a character. He’s honestly really cool and I wish Toriyama didn’t do my dude so wrong. 
> 
> CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT MAY TRIGGER SOME INDIVIDUALS! THIS FIC STARTS OFF WITH A RAPE! I REPEAT RAPE! DON’T LIKE DON’T READ. 
> 
> I do realize I’ll still have people read and leave harsh comments about it, but you were warned!
> 
> And lastly, I’m not the best writer or editor. Take it easy on me okay? Aaaalright :)

Chapter 1- I can’t win

 

This life for the him was hard, he could never win. The blazing sting of the sun’s hateful rays continued to beat down on the young bandit as he hid behind a dumpster outside of a dingy motel.

A stench of piss and mothballs filled his nose.

The boy often found himself in trouble with the law, with some low level thugs and occasionally with some high profile people. But his best friend knew the right strings to pull every time, she was always saving his ass and he would always be in her debt. Now he was desperate and took it upon himself to rob a guy that managed to give him a ride from the downtown area of a city he’d ended up in late last week, back to the alleyway four blocks east of his uncle’s apartment building.

He was positive the guy didn’t have a clue, and but despite that a small pang of guilt racked his body. He was just a child trying to get by on the scraps that he had.

He knew he would not be able to continue to live like this and desperately wanted to return home to his younger cousin Goku and uncle Bardock, but he just couldn’t shake this life and didn’t want his uncle’s help. The man was an abusive, manipulative asshole anyways, though he couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaving Goku in that house like that.

His hands shook as he pulled out his old flip phone after hearing it buzz for the ninth time inside the pocket of his dirty, ripped pants. “H-hey Bulma!”

 

-10 years later-

“Yamcha! I’m so done with you! You’re an asshole, a cheater, a liar-“ the man pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the end call button on the glossy screen. His now ex girlfriend Bulma was so picky, so quick to judge and so overbearing that he couldn’t take it anymore.

He did everything she asked—no demanded, and she still didn’t give him credit for all the things he’d managed to accomplish for her, for them, for their relationship to work. Yamcha often felt like he was unworthy of Bulma as she always made it apparent how wealthy her family was and how useless he could be sometimes. At every chance she got she chewed him out about something, no matter how small the problem may have been. He loved her but, there were things he knew he didn’t deserve, so when things often got rough he sought out someone else who seemed to treat him right. That someone being another woman, yes.

Yamcha broke up with the blue haired woman many times and her stubborn nature never let her take no for an answer. To make matters worse, when Yamcha broke up with her a few years ago he made the discovery that she was pregnant by overhearing a conversation between her and someone on the phone. When confronted she stubbornly claimed she wasn’t, even after a heated argument where Yamcha literally backed the young heiress into a corner.

“Bulma! Stop lying to me, please! I have done all I can for you and it hasn’t been easy for me to come to this..conclusion,” a rough hand slams against the wall near her head causing her to flinch and some of her wall mounted lab equipment to clattered to the ground.

Her big blue eyes stare up at him in bewilderment before their usual cool, calm depths return to normal. Her plump, pink lips pull down into a deep frown before she says “Get out of my house and never come back, you asshole.” The young man wasn’t one to put his hands on a woman, but he desperately wanted to choke the truth up from the depths of her pale throat.

“Bulma, I heard you talking on the phone to some prick named Vegeta, that’s the baby’s father, not me so don’t try and make that excuse again.” He felt his teeth come together in a slow, menacing grind, his jaw muscles tightening and he shook with pent up anger.

“Yamcha. I never want to see you again, ok? We’re done, you want to accuse me of something you have no hard evidence of when I’ve seen you kiss up to four other whores? Fuck you, get your life straight.” She shoves him, however the furious male does not move. She feels trapped, the air between them is a mix of his natural smell, a light musk, the funk of his unwashed hair and lastly, the smell of her fruity perfume. The smell always makes Yamcha’s nose burn and after this moment it’ll be one of the memories that makes his heart sink.

After everything that happened with his former best friend, he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore her or just not forgive her, that’s not the type of person the former delinquent was. Even after he is thrown out by the Capsule Corp security bots with the haunting sting of a backhand to his right cheek.

He was brought out of his thoughts and back to the reality around him when a hard smack left his left shoulder stinging and he winced in pain. He was at the after party of the last game of the baseball season.

They won by several points and it was all thanks to him, as usual as he was the best player on the team. He always displayed seemingly super human skills when it came to that and that alone. Baseball was a passion Yamcha would never give up.

“Yeah ladies, my man Yamcha here hit that last home run of the night,” his teammate says clapping him again on the back. The women in question gave him a suggestive look and one begins to stroke his thick ebony mane of hair.

“Well, you’re just hotter in person,” the blonde one says as she moves to stand over him while the brunette one shyly waits behind. Yamcha feels his muscles relax again and his high returns, he’s the star of the show and these people are here because of him, fuck Bulma.

He felt his chest swell with pride and he removes his cap running a rough hand through his locks. With a deep inhale and shaky exhale he stands and his face breaks into a huge toothy grin, his pearly white teeth shining. The male knew he was hot and right now his confidence was on an all time high, he spent several moments entertaining the women with cheesy jokes as he casually flexed his muscles.

Yamcha wasn’t the most muscular guy, but he had a lean, fit build and sharply cut arms and toned legs that had most females turning to take a peek, in some cases men too.

When he felt it was his time to leave, he felt his heart jump in his chest at the thought of having two chicks for the night. They weren’t really his cup of tea, but his dick had only been best friends with his hand a few nights in a row for the past couple weeks. As they left they turned a corner in between the two buildings in the high rise apartment complex and took a route through an alleyway before he stopped and got a look at his phone as it began to vibrate again in his pocket. A few unknown numbers, a few buddies and then just Bulma.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and began walking with the women again. He didn’t have his car with him this starry, summer night but reassured the girls that they’d be fine.

Occasionally, his gut instinct caused his stomach to flip flop and a voice in the back of his head urged him to take the girls back, he felt danger enclosing in on him as they crossed a path near a quiet, dark public park. There should be no fear, for Yamcha usually walked this way after a game on certain, beautiful nights.

“Boo.”

A calm voice said right at the back of his head just as they passed by an unlit lamp post, his instincts were right. He didn’t panic, just unwound his arms from the women’s waist and didn’t immediately move to look.

“Go.” He whispered to both as he started to put a face to the voice, a face from so long ago. The former bandit knew his shady past would one day come back to bite him in this terrible form of karma.

“Wha-“ The blonde chirped as a giant silhouette reached from the shadows for her neck, snapping it with a sharp crack and before the other could comprehend what had just occurred, she was shot point blank range by the other, in the back of her head. The sound was not as loud as expected and Yamcha gasped, trauma and terror now turning the gears in his head, while blood and chips of bone splattered the side of his face. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing he was truly terrified, but he did have his arms up in surrender. The larger male was the first to be unmasked by the dim illumination of the street lights on the opposite side of the street. No one would be out this time of night, so this little encounter had no chance of being stopped unless a partygoer happened to pass by and hopefully, call the cops.

The larger man was a ginger with blue eyes, a mohawk and an expressionless face, he wore what appeared to be all black from head to toe minus the forest green denim vest. The behemoth of a man quickly grabbed both corpses shortly before disappearing back into the abysmal darkness of the park, not before making brief eye contact with the athlete.

The cool breeze only served to make Yamcha feel colder as a chill ran down his spine when the other male revealed himself.

He was an inch or two shorter than the baseball player, but his ego put him higher than anyone Yamcha had met. His hair was cut into an ebony bob that swept his broad shoulders, his piercing blue eyes bore into Yamcha’s, his face, then curiously traced his whole body. He wore black, rough looking motorcycle gloves, ripped stone washed jeans, black boots and a white shirt with green sleeves that read “MIR” in the center.

“H-hey, man. I don’t want trouble,” the taller of the two says as the other lifts a pistol from the pocket of his jeans, replacing the other, smaller gun he held a second ago.

“You. My, you’ve grown,” his smooth voice reaches Yamcha’s ears and he cringes. The smaller male’s eyes reminds him of a hungry predator, like the ones he watches on Animal Planet some boring Saturday mornings, as they stalk their prey in an eerily quiet savannah.

The largest male does not return and on this note Yamcha thinks he has a chance of fighting and winning this one.

“Give me all the shit you have on you, now.” It’s a demand and Yamcha isn’t in the mood to get shot tonight. He flinches when the man steps closer, the dark splotch on the man’s shirt is most certainly blood and he can smell something that makes his stomach churn. The scent coming off this guy was not pleasant. The younger male is scared to scream and soon he finds that he should have. He is guided to another alley not too far from where they are, unlit and the the stench burns his sensitive nose.

“Please, I know I’ve caused problems when I was younger, but I’m not the same person! I-I’ve got a career! If money is something you want I can get you plenty!” His voice is pitchy and it cracks on the final words. Yamcha wasn’t strong enough to fight them off, he knew this as he had tried when they walked through the park in the dark, the other dark haired male was quick to react twisting one of the baseball player’s arms behind his back before releasing him with a hard kick.

“Try me again motherfucker, and I’ll slit your neck and shit down your weak neck.” The other growled forcing the baseball player to stand on shaky feet. Yamcha stood in the dimly lit alleyway, his back turned to face his captors and his hands pressed firmly against the dirty brick wall as something pricked the side of his neck. Soon his vision began to blur and his head began to spin and he panicked as he realized he was drugged.

“Wanna rob me, huh? I should kill you, but,” the male against the wall was forced to his knees shortly after an unzipping sound was heard. The drugs did nothing to stop the flow of tears from his eyes and spread of sickness in his stomach. The baseball player realized that there was really no way out of this and finally started to sob. “Please, I’m sorry,”

Yamcha never thought he’d be crying like a bitch in an alleyway, never in his life.

He was forced to turn around and face the sick male, the man’s pants were around his knees and his pale legs were spread while he stroked his long, hard cock in Yamcha’s face. The muscles under the pale skin of his thighs twitching as the shorter of the two moaned lifting his shirt to reveal washboard abs stretching out under the same milky skin. Yamcha couldn’t bear to look, shutting his eyes, his head down as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth between his top row of teeth and nervously ran his teeth over the plump line of his mouth. A cold chuckle rang through his ears and his head was jerked back painfully by his hair.

“Look at me! Soon my dick will be the only thing you can focus on, I’m sure.” Yamcha’s mouth was forced open and he bit the offending fingers. The fingers were quickly removed and in their place was a sharp smack. Several, actually. He cried out as his temple made contact with the guy’s foot and soon he would not fight only crying heavily as the guy’s dick was shoved into his mouth. His movements weren’t as fast as he wanted them to be and he realized the drugs had done this.

“Bite and I’ll slaughter you, that blue haired banshee you call a girlfriend and anyone you call a friend or family. Cooperate and I won’t have to bury you in a shallow grave.” He pulled back holding Yamcha’s mouth as wide as it would go before sliding the head back in between his teeth, the massive cock making Yamcha gag as it hit the back of his throat. The subdued male’s hair was gripped with the other male’s right hand and the scar on his face was traced lightly. If Yamcha wasn’t in this situation he would have called it an affectionate touch.

His pride, his confidence, they were damaged beyond repair now.

Drool dripped down the sides and front of his mouth as that cock was forced in and out and he felt and heard the other groan as his release neared. His thrust slowed and the rapist grabbed the base of his cock delaying his release. The other kept a firm grip on his hair and now his face.

“Fuck, move your tongue over the head and suck it, do it!” Yamcha complied, too scared and disabled by the drugs to disobey. The shorter man moaned loudly throwing his head back, icy blue eyes rolling in his head.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growled right before his strokes sped up his left hand returning to hold his lowered shirt above his flat toned stomach.

“Look at me,” and Yamcha’s watery brown eyes made contact just as the guy exploded in his mouth with a low, possessive growl. His salty seed draining to the back of his throat, but the grip never left his hair.

“Swallow.” Yamcha felt sick once again and struggled to breathe through his nose, tears still blurring and stinging his puffy red eyes but he did what he was told. He thought the worst was over but when he was allowed to breathe through his mouth again he let out a shaky cry when the man turned him parallel with the walls of the alley forcing him flat onto his back. He managed to kick the guy in the knee but not much else. The other male appeared seemingly from nowhere as his shadow now covered Yamcha from above his head.

Instinctively, Yamcha crossed one arm over his ribcage and the other out in surrender to the giant. The redhead’s passive face did not waver and he yanked Yamcha’s jersey and t shirt over his bent arms and held it above his head. The baseball player actually screamed this time only to be punched in the gut, a choked sob burning his throat.

The drugs made his words slur and his eyesight blend everything he’d seen together. His uniform pants were forced down over his strong hips and soon after were sliced into tiny ribbons along with his underwear and tossed aside.

His desperate cries started up again and were again abruptly interrupted by a brief beating that left the former bandit tired and just ready to die. He felt his limp dick stroked to life and a warm cavern descend upon it sucking and licking until Yamcha almost felt like he was going to come.

He wasn’t gay and didn’t think he liked men but earlier when he was sucking the first man’s dick he felt his own twitch in his boxers.

He let out a small sound after the man removed his lips from his cock, from there he was sure he wanted to die, he felt exposed and exploited, he’d wish he was never born.

These guys were not human only hollow vessels that mimicked the worst qualities of a human.

They were true predators. Yamcha tried to think of anything, everything else but these few traumatic moments in his life. His cat Puar briefly came to mind before he was pulled back to the present when a sharp pain ignited his asshole.

He was being raped.

“You have quite the body, Yamcha.” Hearing his name said in such a silky, seductive way by the shorter blue eyed male caused a shutter through his being before he gasps in pain as the big cock thrust deeper into the tight cavern of his ass. The strokes were relentless and reached deep inside him poking a small bundle of nerves every so often forcing a painfully loud moan from the ex bandit’s muffled mouth. As his captor wrapped his smooth tan legs over his shoulders Yamcha could feel hands all over him as they twisted his nipples, played with his balls, ran the trail of the dark trimmed pubic hair and back done to his heavy dick.

Another stroke and his toes were curling, another and his eyes were rolling in his head. He couldn’t believe it as his screams of pain melted into broken moans of pleasure he could barely contain.

He felt betrayed by his own body, dirty and disgusted and in that moment the male fucking him grabbed his dick, caressing and pumping it furiously.

“Such a big tasty looking dick,” the other moaned and Yamcha could feel himself being forced to the end. He chewed his lip until it bled under the shirt, his own breath heating the confined space and feeling his dizzy head with the smell of various alcohols.

“Aw, I know you’re close, let me help you with that,” the other half cooed, half moaned and Yamcha felt himself coming to a close, “No!” Get off me! Stop!” He screamed and tried to sit up but the other still held him down. He almost forgot the second male was there. In the last of his struggles his abdominal muscles, thighs and ass tightened as he came onto the hand of his first captor and onto his own flat stomach. He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he held breathing rapidly as the other male came next. Inside him.

He stopped fighting, feeling the man soften inside him, a soft sob left his raw throat, snot and spit had accumulated on his wet face during the act.

“I think that was payment enough, goodbye Yamcha.” The broken male felt the ominous presences retreat after the shorter male moved around gathering his clothes and the stuff he stole from the ex bandit. Now free from his captors with his life intact he let the most unfamiliar cries and sounds leave his bloody mouth. He removed the shirts from his face in a little struggle and lie in a puddle of sweat and cum until he felt like he wasn’t going to pass out, scream or puke.

His head spun but he turned over onto his stomach. The glass that cut into his ass and back the least of his problems when he reached into the pocket of his shredded uniform pants to retrieve his phone.

He just wanted to go home now. He prayed that the pair were not waiting around for him as he crossed into the bright lights of the alley exit, his bottom half still nude.


	2. Unexpected Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha manages to get home after the brutal encounter with the men in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not own the characters or whatever. All rights go to Akira Toriyama. 
> 
> And I realize that how Yamcha reacts and feels after his attack may not be accurate, I’ll try my very best to make it seem as true as possible. I realize rape, sexual assault, abuse and things are serious topics. With that said this story DOES CONTAIN THOSE THINGS. DO NOT LIKE? DON’T READ! 
> 
> I’m not the best writer/editor, take it easy on me, okay? Okkkkaay :) 
> 
> P.S- I made Goku and Yamcha cousins because when I was little and saw my older brother watching or playing one of the dbz games, I thought Yamcha and Goku looked similar. Always thought they were related. 
> 
> Enjoy yall!

He managed to get home and he hoped no one had seen him wandering around the city, naked. The drugs were slowly wearing off, however it still made his vision dance and his head swim but were less effective as Yamcha figured it was wearing off. It was about 3am now, though it usually took him almost thirty minutes to get home from that route, his movements were slower and the fact that he was nude made the trip a few minutes longer. 

The athlete prayed that no one could see him like this so he took to hiding when cars drove by where he limped along the sidewalk. His hair was a dirty, tangled mess and the only part of his uniform he still wore was his cleats, socks and his torn Taitans jersey. 

Luckily there was no paparazzi around like there usually was after the team’s huge events, which didn’t strike him as strange at the moment. Yamcha took this as a well deserved blessing.

Puar, his cat, greeted him from the living room couch when he managed to get inside his apartment. Ignoring the tiny, fat blue cat Yamcha made his way to the bathroom where he slammed the door, stripping what remained of his clothes and removing a black pair of scissors from the bottom drawer of the cabinet under the sink. In the mirror his eyes were red rimmed, puffy and still glazed over from the drug and from bawling so hard his head hurt. Bruises and blood stained his tan skin, his mouth was dry and also stained with blood. Now he couldn’t bear to look at himself as he cut his long, thick black strands of hair. Thick piles gathered on the sink and around his dirty cleats. The cuts were uneven and rushed and in the end he was only left with a short messy chop that poorly framed his face. It felt lighter and almost surreal to him.   
The weight, all the years he took to grow out his impressive hair length, it was all gone. The feeling was strange. 

 

This whole thing was like a bad dream he couldn’t wake from. 

Sobs shook his strong form and the burn of his asshole brought him back to reality as he started to drift off. He wandered if he had wronged anyone else and had they grown up to bear a violent grudge against him. Nevertheless, he wished that the two men were hit immediately by a car after they left him there in the alleyway. 

What wasn’t helping was his reputation in this town. He was famous, everyone knew him now and he foolishly didn’t find it necessary for security or bodyguards to follow him 24/7. He could already beat anyone that fucked with him on the team, but he didn’t think anyone else outside that circle could hurt him. 

There was that big head of his again. 

Internally he was frantically panicking. He was terribly embarrassed and felt shame.

“If I had just stayed when Garrett told me to have a another drink, this would have never happened!” He couldn’t believe himself, it was his fault he thought. Tears streaked through the mess on face making another trail of wet, clean skin. His head was spinning, the man felt nauseous. 

Biting through his lip again, Yamcha clutched his churning stomach before feeling it’s contents rise and meet the back of his throat. For the next 30 minutes he sat half awake on the floor in front of the toilet clinging to it. His cries were raspy, his throat hurt from bawling so much. 

In the shower the ex bandit half scrubbed his body until his skin was an irritated, raw red. His eyes couldn’t shed tears anymore, he felt numb. Sinking down into the fetal position, he let the scorching spray burn his skin until he couldn’t take it any longer. Yamcha pulled as many pieces of glass from his ass and back as he could and silently prayed away the pain. 

But nothing would make him forget this.

After the water had finally began to run cold, he half dried himself. Who could he vent to about this? What should he do? 

He debated on whether to go to the hospital or the police, however feelings of uncertainty and humiliation burned inside him. The paparazzi and poorly written articles about the situation floated around in his head. Concerned fans feeling the need to reassure him that it was ok, the attention he would get.

He didn’t want anyone to know about this. Not even Bulma. 

Complete black met Yamcha in the hall outside the bathroom. It was odd, he didn’t remember turning off any lights while entering the apartment. He knew nothing was there, but the abysmal darkness only brought him back to that park, the alleyway. He turned his body, clinging along the wall until his arm bumped a familiar object along it’s surface. Quickly, he slapped the switch on letting out the most relieved but shaky sigh when nothing but the apartment’s original contents were presented to him under the light. 

With Puar in sight, he scooped up the tiny feline and soon made his way around every corner and crevice turning on all light switches in the house. A few times along the way he thought he’d heard something and would jump. Eventually, he ended up launching Puar through the kitchen. Although, he landed on the counter, the cat wasn’t happy with it’s owner. 

They checked the apartment one final time to calm the man’s nerves and when no one was found the pair retreated back into the man’s bedroom. 

“P-puar, it hurts..so much,” he lay on his sore back on the bed. The man’s shaking arms embraced the small meowing feline, his eyes burning with unshed tears. Yamcha only ever exposed these things in the comfort of his home to his best friend, the cat, Puar. He never even told Bulma when he hurt like this, after a long day he’d just come home, throw his shit down and Puar would run to him on fat little furry legs. Puar seemed to understand and somewhat listen as he looked curiously at his owner, swishing his tail back and forth giving the man comforting rubs with his body as the man poured his heart out. Yamcha knew his cat was smarter than he’d first discovered. 

His eye lids began to feel heavy, and just as he was almost pulled under by the gentle wash of sleep he remembered something.

The two women he almost took home were killed. 

He shot up, almost tossing the feline again, feeling bile rise in his throat and he half limped, half ran to the bathroom. Once inside he collapsed but didn’t make it to the toilet. Throwing up all over the floor, the nasty contents mixed with the loose clumps of hair on the navy rug. His vision wavered and vomit cleanup was the least of his issues right now. What was he going to do?

The man didn’t know how much more he could take. 

After about a week everyone was getting worried that Yamcha hadn’t made an appearance to any of the extra celebration events involving the Taitans. He didn’t pick up the phone, or answer the door when his teammates or even his coach came to see if he was alright. When a few weeks passed the numbers of people who visited dwindled into only the mailman delivering occasional packages.

He would not answer any calls, open his door or even move from his bed for that matter. When Puar would come and check on him in his room he’d always be turned on his back staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“Puar, I don’t think I can-“ a knock sounded at the door, a bang actually, and he jumped letting out a small unintentional squeal. If it was who he thought it was he would not hesitate to call the police. Or maybe it was the police coming to arrest him? 

The room spun and he fell on shaky legs when he tried to get up from his bed, a result of not using his legs for a while. His phone was on the table of his living room coffee table and he cursed himself the whole way on his hands and knees.   
The banging continued scaring him enough to stop his path to the now dead phone. 

“Yaaaaamcha! It’s Goku! You’re cousin! It’s been a while man!” His ears perked up at that. 

“G-goku?” He rasped slowly crawling to sit against the smooth wood of the front door and felt it bang against his scarred back. 

“Yamcha! I know you’re there! I can sense you!” 

Yamcha managed to get himself up onto weak legs looking into the peephole and sure enough a huge, muscular male with recognizable black spikes jumped from foot to foot outside his door. His heart jumped, but then sank as he felt memories flood his brain. Most good and some bad and in that moment he felt bad for leaving that gentle child in his uncle Bardock’s hands. He could still trust his cousin, right? What if he was mad at him for leaving for so long?

He absentmindedly opened the door and only then did he remember how he looked—naked, sweaty, dirty. But Goku shoved the door open exposing Yamcha to the outside world as his sunny smile stretched his big goofy, but handsome face.   
“Cousin Yamcha! I missed you so much!” 

Yamcha found himself startled by the male’s outburst scrambling back behind the couch to cover himself. 

“Goku, n-nice to see you, but I don’t think this is a very good time.” He huffed forcing down a breath as he hid his face. Acting as normal as possible was going to be difficult. He looked a mess and his apartment was in terrible shape as well. He figured if Goku asked he could say “I didn’t expect anyone else to come by so early, sorry about the mess man, crazy party.” It was the best lie he could think up on the spot when Goku’s nose scrunched at the mess in the bathroom. 

“Yamcha! What in the world did you do?”


	3. Today it rained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha dreams of his attack, Goku doesn’t know what’s going on with his cousin. He leaves to clear his own head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own the characters, yadda yadda you know. Like my shit? Kudos my shit :) Thank ya! Enjoy!

While listening to the sweet sounds of an alternative band on Pandora, Yamcha is lying on his back in the park. It seems like it should be midday, but the dreary looking sky only darkens and droplets of rain begin to filter through the dense tree branches. It drenches him in it’s cool touch. 

The storm is bad, but the dark haired male does not flinch, only blinks slowly, and his eyes scan the area of the park thoughtfully. A sigh leaves his lips. 

After the last bits of the song have passed, Yamcha is left to listen to the sounds of the wind and rain. He had fond memories of him and his little cousin, Goku sneaking out to play and run around in the rain. Him and Bulma also shared their first and last kisses in the rain. 

For him, the rain was calming and provided comfort. He loved the way it sounded as it pelted the roof of his car as he sat silently inside after a long, stressful day. The way it kissed his skin and drenched his hair after a hot practice. 

“Hey,” a voice says. It low and almost draws him to it. It has a velvety sound, but makes his heart sort of beat faster. 

Something about that voice had him uneasy. When he doesn’t immediately sit up to see who the owner of the voice is, he is pulled up from between the roots of the tree to face strangely familiar blue eyes.   
“No.” He whispers, and hot tears burn his eyes. Just seeing the man again brings a burn to his chest. He wishes he could disappear.

The rain has stopped, his only source of comfort has vanished. Now he only feels the overwhelming wash of panic take over his body. 

The blue eyed male begins to coo and shush the crying man, caressing his face with his free hand. His fingers trace over the ugly scar and the cold kiss of metal scraps just under his chin.  
“Leave me ALONE!” Yamcha screams trying to make a run for it, but of course he is caught. The man catches him by the ankle causing him to fall and just as he hits the ground he briefly shuts his eyes. His body does not meet the cold, wet grass, but a hard rough surface.

Upon opening them, he finds himself back in a place he wished he’d never seen again, the alleyway. 

This can’t be happening, this is not real. 

When he finds himself under the shorter man and being watched intently by the other, nothing but pure terror grips him. He’s shaking and wants desperately to shout out. Unfortunately as he opens his mouth to scream, nothing comes out. He even feels the overwhelming need to shed tears, but even they do not surface. 

He feels so small and vulnerable in this situation, he can only watch as his assaulter begins to shed his own clothes. 

“Please!” He screams, but the word does not come out. The blue eyed man places a gun beside his victim’s head only to start to unzip Yamcha’s grey hoodie and slide off his pants.   
“Guess you were ready, this time.” The man purrs and Yamcha is met with the image of his nude torso under the hoodie, his bare thighs and semi-hard penis. 

He cannot look away, but he can feel and faintly see the other male standing over the both of them. His electric blue eyes seemed to glow against the shadows hiding his face. He doesn’t say a word, just like in the real-life encounter, however he looks even more ominous. 

At this point Yamcha can see that the other male is entering him roughly. Only now does the sounds of rain start back up again. Yamcha’s hair is gripped and pulled down tightly in one hand, exposing his neck to the monster above him. 

He can finally hear his own uneven breaths and low raw moans, his body betrays him again as the man’s skillful tongue and lips play against his skin.   
“Ya~amcha..” the man moans deeply, pounding into his body tasting his wet neck once more as the rain pelted the three of them.   
He still can’t cry, just hear the disgusting sounds of pleasure leaving his own mouth. 

“Yamcha, come for me. You’re awfully close,” the guy lets out a chuckle, kissing the athlete greedily on the mouth “Yamcha..” 

He kept repeating his name but each time he said, it began to rise in volume and so did the sounds of the storm.   
“Yamcha..” the guy says in between neck bites. “Yamcha..” he shouts when he finally sits up, stopping his movements.

“YAMCHA!” Finally, Yamcha launches forward off the bed and is surprised by his surroundings. He’s not in the park under the tree, or even in the alley. He is home in bed the sudden darkness causing his heart to beat faster. Goku was the one shouting his name. 

The athlete’s breathing is erratic and his body is sweaty, but now he can look out the sliding door of the balcony and see the storm for himself. The sounds do not calm him and, nor does the sight at the moment.   
He can feel his stomach turn and flop and he isn’t sure if he’s gonna hurl, unfortunately he is sure he’s about to cry.   
“Yamcha, I’ve been calling your name for almost 10 minutes, you’ve been crying in your sleep. Are you alright?”   
He doesn’t immediately hear his cousin’s concerned voice and begins to rock himself on the bed. His face contorts and he can feel Goku’s heavy, awkward embrace.   
“Leave Goku, get out! DON’T TOUCH ME!” He’s bawling and screaming and gripping at what’s left of his hair. Puar saunters in to see what all the commotion is about and immediately jumps to his owner’s side on the bed. 

His cousin jumps off of him, shocked by his outburst, his hands up in surrender. Yamcha doesn’t mean it, however he doesn’t know how to tell Goku what’s happening or even if he should.

“Yamcha, j-just tell me, did I scare you?” The man is confused and Yamcha cannot find the courage to look at him, he just feels shame and embarrassment before another outburst comes.   
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He screams surprising Puar as well as the male by his side.   
“B-but what have I done to you!?” Goku shouts back, suddenly angry and at the moment, Yamcha doesn’t know what to do. He just wants to be alone, or atleast he thinks he does. 

Sliding to the other side of his bed, nearest the sliding door, Yamcha grabs the neck of his favorite electric guitar holding it above his head in warning. Goku can only see Yamcha’s trembling silhouette hanging off the edge of the bed in the dim natural light, but he knows without seeing that Yamcha’s face is probably red, and wet with shed tears and snot. 

The sounds of him crying takes Goku back to his childhood with the former delinquent. He thought of a very gruesome encounter between Yamcha and his father. He could recall hearing Yamcha pleading through tears as he was beat until he collapsed, all for a small mishap. 

Goku didn’t really know what always made his father angry, but he knew his big cousin always protected him. Now he wanted to protect Yamcha in return, but how could he when Yamcha was being difficult?

He knows that this issue is a big one, one that makes him feel a sense of familiarity in a way. Goku can’t quite understand the amount of hurt and pain Yamcha is facing on his own.

He cannot contain his anger at his cousin and Goku spins around stomping off into the living room. He slams the door to Yamcha’s room with such force the doorframe cracks, the room shakes and several pictures and keepsakes fall from both sides of the wall. 

Yamcha releases a heavy breath, and he finds himself tossing the guitar before almost running to turn the lights on. As usual, there is no one here, but he hears another loud slam outside the room. He’s sure it’s Goku leaving the apartment.

So pissed by his cousin’s actions, Goku had decided to take a much needed walk. The only reason he came here was to find his own relief in his cousin, as things were getting rough after his father, Bardock’s death. 

Not only was his wife cheating on him, but his sons also resented him. His anger problems had lessened over the years after his father’s death, but the man was not exactly controlling it well either.

He felt his own embarrassment and shame that he couldn’t be there for his family when they needed him hell, they didn’t even want him around, since he never seemed to be there anyway. 

Rain soaked Goku down to his underwear, and he eventually found himself floating aimlessly around the city. He walked passed stores upon stores, never letting his legs stop moving. His legs carried him farther and farther away. 

The streets seemed to be less occupied with traffic today as only a handful of cars crossed in front of him. 

Back at the apartment Yamcha had opened the balcony door and stepped out into the cool wind. He almost forgets that he still doesn’t have clothes on, debating on whether to find some underwear and a pair of jogging pants. Eventually, he does.

Looking out over the neighborhood, the surface of the lake is disturbed by the rain. He stands with his hands tightly clasped together on the edge of the railing, watching as it’s surface is pelted time and time again by the downpour. He soon realizes that his breath has slowed back down and his shaking has reduced significantly. 

‘It was only a dream, it wasn’t real.’ He tells himself and it’s hard to convince himself that it was. He fights the urge to jump from the 3rd story balcony. 

The way he’s standing only ignites the pain in his back and backside and reluctantly, Yamcha takes a seat at the small, glass table near the open door. He can still feel the sting, but the patio chair’s cushion is soft and inviting to him. 

Closing his eyes, the man lets his senses take hold, hearing the soothing pelt of trillions of droplets covering every outdoor surface. 

He begins to recall a time just shortly after he entered high school. A memory of his cousin and him playing outside, just days after a minor hurricane swept up the streets of their childhood neighborhood. 

It had been the third day without power, and with no one coming anytime soon, the boys found their entertainment in the outdoors, just as they always had anyway.   
Bardock mostly slept which gave them more and more chances to slip away, undetected. He wanted them inside because he didn’t want to run the risk of one of them getting hurt. 

The neighborhood wasn’t the best and the dirt roads were muddy. Potholes filled with water and none of the nearby houses or businesses’ lights were on for miles around. It would take longer for power to finally return to where they lived. 

Usually their block was filled with all the other kids that lived around, but for days they had seen no one. It was eerie and awfully quiet. 

The boys still played, even when the day had turned to night and even when Bardock had called out to them. Both knew they would get a beating later. 

Yamcha couldn’t really see his own hands in the dark and the wind howled past them rattling the bent and toppled signs up the road. 

“Yamcha?” Goku called over the sounds of the rain. “Yeah?”  
“I think my dad is looking for us, we should go, right?” The kid was so innocent and kind-hearted. It hurt Yamcha to see his cousin abused by his uncle, that’s why whenever anything pissed Bardock off Yamcha guided Goku back into their shared room and tried to calm his uncle the best he could. Sometimes it ended in a beating, but mostly in insults and comments about how Yamcha’s parents hadn’t wanted him. 

The teen wanted to know of course, where his parents really were, because deep in his being he felt Bardock was feeding him bullshit. 

After a while, Yamcha had fallen asleep out on the balcony and Goku had returned shortly after nightfall. It was still raining.   
“Cousin.” Goku says, flipping on the lights for the balcony. The sleeping man does not immediately move, his soft snores reaching Goku’s ears to which he briefly smiled. Goku takes a second to study his cousin’s sleeping face, his eyes skimming over the messily chopped dark hair atop his head. 

What have you done to yourself, Yamcha?

To his horror he finally notices light bruises and scraps along his cousin’s body that he had missed before. The way Yamcha was laying on the chair exposed some of his back and there Goku could see some little cuts. Now that he leans a bit closer to look at the man, his face is slightly battered as well.

He swallows down his fury, and instead leans over to tap his cousin lightly on the shoulder a few times. Again, he does not immediately wake up. This time he slaps a hand across Yamcha’s cheek and finally the man springs up in surprise. 

At first he looks terrified, holding a hand over his rapidly beating heart. Finally realizing it was only Goku, again. 

“Come inside, Yamcha. I want to talk to you.” Goku sighs. He thinks he finally put all the pieces together as to why his cousin was being so strange and now was the time to talk about it.   
“There was no party here. Tell me what’s going on.”


	4. Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku wants to know why Yamcha is acting so strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions are slowly going to be answered. I have no knowledge in the medical field, so don’t be upset if something isn’t exact. I have never had to deal with certain events and I’m just trying to write it as best as I can. Cheers.

Goku turned on every light in the apartment to make Yamcha calm down and now was the time for answers. 

Yamcha sat on the creme colored leather couch casually leaning back with his legs spread. He was terrified of what Goku was going to say and only stared blankly at the decorated wall across from him. 

Next to the flat screen tv, the wall was covered in baseball cards and secured with his collection of special guitars. His favorite one, an electric guitar he named Lucy, sat in the middle with it’s shiny black curves, and hints of purple where the lights hit it just right. 

To the left of his prized collection sat a vertical line of framed pictures Yamcha had taken over the years. They ranged from memories of his high school days to his years as part of the Taitans. At the very top of the line of photos, near the top of the doorframe was a space where a photo was missing. 

His eyes wandered to a fallen photo of him and Bulma sitting on the black carpet a few feet away from his bedroom door. In the photo, she had her tongue out against his cheek which made him scrunch up his face in disgust. That photo always brought back that day in full detail. He had made the baseball team and shortly after, she treated him to a full day of fun. They drank, went out to eat, shopped for new things to put in Yamcha’s new apartment and that night they made love for the first time.   
He felt a heavy pang of sadness bloom in his chest, he really missed her right now. 

“Cousin. I love you..A-and I would never judge you...” Goku says, his words slicing through the thick silence like a hot knife. He’s pacing the middle of the floor, his wet shirt and pants clinging to his muscular form. He’s thinking, Yamcha can tell because he always used to close his eyes and twists his face up like he could visualize much needed answers. He still does.   
“I..listen. I know I haven’t been around for a long time, but I’m still the same person I was from all those years ago. Yamcha, I just wanna know-“ At this point he’s closer standing near him at the arm of the couch to his left. Yamcha can see that his eyes are red and puffy like he’s been crying and his fists are clenching and unclenching as if he’s holding back anger. 

“It’s not your fault, Goku. I left. Remember? But, nothing is going on. Don’t worry.” Yamcha cannot bring himself to tell his cousin what happened, he doesn’t even want to think about it anymore. He doesn’t want to jump at every small sound in the house or Puar rubbing up against him. 

Yamcha can’t sleep without seeing the two in his dreams or thinking some day he’ll see them when he takes a breather outside. He used to think it was strange, when he’d watch tv with Bulma, on that crime television show almost all the rape victims wouldn’t immediately go tell someone. He also argued that something like that would never happen or rarely happened to a man. He was so stupid. 

He understood now what women and some men like him felt. He felt like maybe someone wouldn’t take him seriously or would just blame him. He knew he couldn’t face his ex now, especially after watching one of the crime drama episodes he so proudly proclaimed that he could simply beat the person. 

He also felt complete and utter humiliation at the situation. He felt powerless, fragile and small. Easily frightened. Yamcha was normally a confident guy, but this..this had him on the very edge of a dark abyss.  
He arms cross over his bare chest. 

He would die if someone knew what happened, what he felt. 

He hopes Goku cannot see his lip quivering. Tears threatened to fall, stinging his eyes and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest feels constricted. Yamcha could see the reflection of other objects behind and around him in the room, in surface of his glass coffee table. His favorite albums lined the wall horizontally to his right near the doorway to the kitchen. 

“You’ve got bruises, you limp when you walk, you’ve chopped your hair all up AND-“ Goku realizes he’s raised his voice and takes a second to compose himself. Yamcha looks up then, to where he’s walking, the bathroom.   
His cousin opens the door, flicking the light on and there on the navy carpet sits his shoes, his bloody, ripped jersey, dried vomit and a huge pile of black hair. 

“Explain this, Yamcha?” The athlete doesn’t feel anything when he looks at the pile. It’s like he’s numb. 

He desperately wants to erase the memories of that evening.

Looking away quickly, Yamcha presses his full lips into a tight line. His thoughts keep being pulled back to that evening, and finally he stands circling around the back of the couch, limping into the kitchen, stubbornly. 

He needs a drink or maybe about five. 

When his bare foot makes contact with the cold blue tiles of the kitchen, it seems to cool his entire body. He sighs heavily and a whimper sounds from his mouth. He’s not sure if he can hold this in much longer. 

Reaching for his alcohol cabinet above the kitchen’s island, he doesn’t bother to grab a cup or glass, just chugs the first thing his hand lands on. 

He’s praying Goku doesn’t follow him and try to stop him. He needs this right now. 

Somewhere in another part of the apartment Yamcha can hear Goku moving things and the front door opening. The rain has let up but is still constant. Yamcha gulps down another swig of the brown liquid sitting on the counter nearest the fridge. 

Outside, Goku runs the messy bathroom rug to the dumpster. It takes him several long minutes to get down the street as one of the dumpsters is all the way at the end between the fourth and fifth buildings. Yamcha’s apartment is on the third floor of the first building.

In total there are about ten buildings with three floors for each. They all circle the giant lake in the middle with the buildings numbers increasing as you walk counter clock-wise. Inside the perimeter of the gates was a well lit trail, for running, dog-walking and any other leisure activity families usually wanted to do. The neighborhood is gated, secure and pretty well-hidden. It was a wonder Goku found this place, but he couldn’t get in without Bulma’s help ofcourse. 

The cool wind coaxes a shiver from Goku’s body and he tries to avoid puddles as he points his phone’s flashlight down near his bare feet. 

The way the light revealed his feet in the dark reminded him of a night he’d never shake from his mind.

That day he had come home from Bardock’s funeral. His chest was heavy and hot in his black dress shirt, wet tracks lining his sculpted cheeks. He was responsible for his own father’s death. 

After Yamcha’s unannounced departure, Goku found himself alone all the time. It was bad enough that he was already missing his older sibling, Raditz but he was also missing his cousin, and that hurt him to his core. Raditz had died before he was even old enough to talk, so he really had no memory of him. 

Bardock’s angry rants and punches were then aimed at him, and him alone. Somewhere in his being he was mad at his cousin for abandoning him, but he knew if anyone deserved to be beaten for all the times Yamcha took a hit, it was him. He sacrificed himself so many times for Goku and that made the innocent young man hold Yamcha high in his thoughts. 

He was a hero to Goku, but more than anything, he was just as human as anyone else and could only take so much. After some years he finally fully understood why Yamcha left. Goku was a very forgiving and patient guy.

Many nights after school in Goku’s junior year, his father would force him to face him in a fist fight. Most of the time Goku would shield himself from the attacks and cry, refusing to fight back. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and especially not his dad. 

“Dad! Stop! Please!” He screamed, his voice cracking. Bardock was not having it, especially after Goku brought home a failing grade on a test. He wasn’t the smartest child, but he was working to make things better. He had a learning disability that he was trying really hard to overcome. Goku was also on the lower end of the autistic spectrum. 

“STAND UP YOU LITTLE PUNK!” He bellowed and Goku stood hesitantly, feeling a sudden rage burn him up inside. 

Why did his own father treat him this way? 

He didn’t want to fight his dad, but he knew he had to stop him. 

The fight lasted for almost thirty minutes, and Bardock was not letting up. Goku had grown big after puberty and due to his gym classes, he was lifting weights and now found an interest in boxing with his new best friend, Krillin. 

They had destroyed half the living room, knocking over Bardock’s favorite recliner, the tv, putting a huge hole in the wall near the bedroom, and breaking the cheap little coffee table.   
“Dad! STOP!” Goku howled under the dim, flickering bare light bulb when he landed another solid punch to his father’s face to keep him away. His dad lunged for him again. Bardock closed a hand around Goku’s throat, effectively cutting off his cries and breathing. The older man wrestled his son to the ground as he sputtered in pain, tears streaming down his dirty face. His father punched him so hard Goku could feel his head spinning against the flat surface of the dirty ground. 

In the last little moments, Goku managed to poke his father in one of his eyes, cutting off his sight and managed to get him off before running for the front door to escape. Bardock grabbed and yanked him by the calf, causing him to slip and hit his chin on the door knob with a dull ‘CLUNK.’

He was sure someone had called the cops because he could hear the sirens in the distance. 

His father had ripped the arm of his white, leather varsity jacket. It was a jacket a guy named Piccolo let him hold after seeing him shivering from their classes cold air conditioning. Goku figured the two of them could become friends and so he took the time to chat with the quiet male during class, and then invited him over to sit with him and Krillin for lunch. 

Goku collapsed and wrestled under Bardock until he was turned over onto his back. His father didn’t look ready to give up anytime soon as blood poured from his broken nose and knots lined his cheek. 

The sirens were much closer now. 

Goku then gained the advantage breaking Bardock’s grip, flipping them over and finally landing the fatal blow. 

The punch was so swift and fast, it even surprised himself and he heard a small crack before Bardock quit struggling and eventually went still. The cops arrived, bursting in and seeing the boy still bent over his dead father. He was hitting himself in the head pretty hard as he ripped at his clothes, tears leaking down his chin. He looked utterly insane, nonetheless he was still arrested as the cops needed answers. 

They cuffed him as he screamed and fought against them. The last memory he has of that night is finally calming enough to be walked in handcuffs to the police car. Outside, the darkness was so thick he couldn’t really see his own feet right outside the doorway of his house. One of the officers escorting him to the car had finally turned on their flashlight after about ten steps and lit up Goku’s bare, dry feet. He didn’t even see them carry his father’s body away.

Goku had finally made it to the dumpsters, tossing the bag inside the giant green container and a cold sensation bite at his chest and arms. Letting his thoughts distract him, he realized too late that he shouldn’t have left his cousin alone and took off at the fastest speed he could. 

When he left his phone had read 9:55pm and now it was about 10:20pm. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew his cousin was not alright. Goku knew he should have kept an eye on him after bringing up such a seemingly sensitive topic. He could have atleast had the male walk with him to take the trash. He was so fucking stupid.

His feet smacked the pavement and splashed along in puddles with every step he took. He had to hurry. The rain picked up again and he swerved around parked cars and obstacles in the dark. 

Finally passing Yamcha’s candy red capsule car parked out front, he sped up the first set of steps. He ran as fast as he could manage down the narrow passage, past a couple and their child and up the next set of steps. When he finally reached the door, he realized that he let it lock as he pulled and jiggled the knob. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. 

Frantically he searched for a way inside. 

“PLEASE BE OK!” He howled running back down the pathway and down all the steps he took. He had cut through the grass between the buildings and around to the back of the apartments facing the lake. Gripping his phone in his mouth he dried his hands as best as he could and climbed up onto the drain pipe and onto the second story balcony. 

Maybe he was overreacting? Maybe Yamcha was just sitting at the kitchen table staring at the wall, sulking trying to think of ways to prove he was just fine. He hated the fact that he was failing again and prayed to god and anyone listening to let him find his cousin, unharmed. 

A little boy watched Goku from the second story balcony door as he jumped and almost fell as he gripped the iron bars of the third story balcony. He pulled himself up just as the boy’s parents entered the room to see what he was doing. 

“SPIDERMAN!” The young boy screamed and his parents just looked baffled as he pointed toward the door in excitement. 

Goku thanked the gods as he slid the door to Yamcha’s room open and called out to him. His chest was on fire and wheezes left his mouth as he stumbled around the bed and out into the living room. Rain water wet the floor where he stepped and droplets clung to the long tips of his soaked spikes.   
“YAMCHA!” All the lights were still on in the rooms and Goku tossed his phone to the couch. No answer. 

When he rounded the corner to the kitchen he found the male sitting at the kitchen table, his head was down and it appeared he had fallen asleep. Goku’s heart still jumped and when he approached his cousin he could still see that something wasn’t right.   
His cousin’s arm was outstretched and clutching a small orange container. A bottle of what Goku could assume was alcohol was broken and glass was everywhere on the floor behind the drugged male. He could see the lone tear that clung to Yamcha’s long lashes.

He didn’t have time, taking the bottle from the male he placed it in the pocket of his soaked sweat pants and lifted Yamcha over his shoulder. Yamcha’s pulse was fluttering and weak and his once tan skin was slowly losing it’s color. The man’s eyelids fluttered as he drifted in and out of the pull of an eternal slumber. 

Goku moved as fast as his drained body would let him with the heavy man on his back.   
“Yamcha! Please! Stay awake! W-why?! Why did you do this to yourself?” Tears streamed down Goku’s face and he felt burning rage ignite his whole body. 

He couldn’t believe this. He would never forget this, or possibly bring himself to forgive him.

Over his shoulder he could just faintly hear Yamcha’s shallow breaths as he fought to breathe. 

“I won’t let you go! I can’t lose you too!” Goku says leaning over the couch to reach for his phone as he waddled to the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like my shit? Kudos my shii~tt, otherwise thank you for even getting this far. I will call my readers my lil duckies. Thank you my little duckies :) Nah, jk. Request whatever you like in this story or even an idea for another story, one shot, whateva! Bah!


	5. New Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha comes to realize that he’ll have to put effort into getting help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classes have been kicking my ass, sorry if anyone was waiting on this story. Lol. Next chapter will first focus what happened when Goku left Yamcha alone in the apartment. More to come. Apologizes if things dont make sense, grammatically and just in general. I try to read the chapters several times and look up shit I know nothing about before posting.
> 
> Enjoy my shit? Kudos my shit :)

-1 month after Yamcha’s overdose-  
‘How has it come to this?’ Yamcha thinks, groaning while his cousin opens the old glass door of the community center. After Yamcha finally confessed, Goku did what he could. He supported Yamcha, comforted him and tried his very best to seek the help that his cousin needed. Yamcha pleaded with him not to get Bulma involved, but it turns out he didn’t need to do anything anyway. Fate would do the work. 

The lights in the old community center are dim and flicker from time to time and it smells like old socks and mildew. Yamcha tries his best to calm his frantic thoughts and focuses on controlling the trembling in his limbs as he follows Goku. The ominous lighting in the center makes his stomach flop. Occasionally, he finds himself looking over his shoulder and around the darkest corners of the halls. Realizing that he is walking a bit too fast, Goku slows to allow Yamcha to catch up. He is aware that the dark makes Yamcha wary, but he doesn’t realize that his cousin is almost panicking behind him because of it. 

“C’mon! Don’t be nervous!” Goku chirps, trying to make the best of the situation.   
Attempting to look as casual as possible, Yamcha stuffs his shaking fists into the pockets of his navy cargo pants. The white sweatshirt he wore was a bit broad in the shoulder area and long in the arms. It felt huge and that only served to make Yamcha feel as small as ever. Besides, it was Goku’s shirt. He recalled the faint musk when he slipped it on in the hospital room. It had been stuffed in the trunk of Goku’s car, which could account for the smell, either way, it was the only thing he had at the time.

Upon finding his class, Yamcha realized it was in the old community gym and felt a small hint of amusement. He used to play a bit of basketball in a gym like this. The sight brought the stupidest but most cherished memories back.

The people who are already seated in the center of the space stop and glance at the two males in the doorway. 

Goku gives a reassuring nod, a small smile, and a brief salute before making a quick exit before Yamcha can even protest. 

Yamcha cannot believe he actually agreed to do this, but he promised both Bulma and Goku that he would atleast try to deal with his issues head on.   
“Well, it looks like we have another newcomer. Everyone welcome him.” Yamcha races out of the dark to a seat between two women just as the speaker finishes her sentence. All the women let out a combined greeting, almost surprising him as he had been too busy being concerned about getting to his seat unharmed, by the imaginary threat. She is standing in the very center, all the chairs turned inward to face her in a huge circle. 

The younger brunette to Yamcha’s left looks visibly uncomfortable by his presence, and the blonde to his right gives him a questioning glance.  
The male felt like this is everything like he’d seen on tv and he starts to feel like his time is being wasted. Yamcha stuck out like sore thumb amongst all these women. That’s how he felt, at least.

“Would you mind telling us your name?” The woman says stepping closer under the scalding light. Her warm earth-toned dress fitting her form loosely and her fiery red hair contrasting to her worn, fair skin tone.

Yamcha’s chest is hurting and a blush blooms across his tan face “Yamcha..” He is trying his hardest to remain calm, placing a hand to his chest.

“Welcome Yamcha. Here, we will always be respectful of another’s time to speak and we do not judge, for here, there is no judgement.” He felt like he was in church or at school and in both places judgement was commonplace. Breathing heavily, he felt the weight of every stare as they began the day’s exercises. 

When Yamcha pulls his phone out, the screen lights up and it’s only about 1:30pm. He groans, rolling his deep brown eyes while slumping in his seat. He hasn’t been listening to half the stories the women tell and tries to block out their whimpers and crying. He refuses to go back to that moment in his head and fights the feeling of panic at the topics and situations floating around. 

He and Goku were never raised to talk out problems and as a result they both held a lot in. Yamcha was slow to get over things, but eventually he did. Goku, on the other hand had went from a sweet quiet child, to a confused, angry adult. He often got angry before he could even figure out the whole situation. 

Yamcha just thought talking things out wouldn’t change the situation, it happened and he never wanted to hear about it again, especially after all that he went through after his hospital visit.

When he lifts his head a woman across from him in the huge circle makes steady eye contact. Yamcha openly stares back at her not noticing her until now. His eyes tracing her perfectly shaped face, her plump pink lips, wide nose and big eyes. The light helped to cast beautiful shadows across her high cheekbones and the dips of her face. Her chocolate skin tone practically glowing under the lights. Yamcha thought she was beautiful and watched as she finally lowered her head as her turn to speak came up. 

“Well..my name is Phaedra. I guess I’ll just start there..” She began in her sort of deep but feminine voice. Chuckling in disbelief, the woman sat forward leaning heavily on her knees in the creaking chair, trying to hide her face as tears began to stain her pant leg. The long locs of her hair brushed her shoulders.   
“Excuse me. I hate crying in front of yall, b-but.” She took a second to compose herself taking deep breaths.   
“My friend convinced me to do this..but I just can’t-“ she stands, her dark dreadlocks still shielding her face as she turned, speed-walking around the women’s chairs and out of the gym. Chatter and murmurs resonate around the gym.

Yamcha isn’t sure what took ahold of him when he pushes his chair back to go after her.   
“I-important phone call to make!” He yells over his shoulder to the group. Clearly a lie. 

When he reaches the hall he can see her already at the end, rounding a corner. Her loud sniffles and soft footsteps can be heard and he’s sure she can hear him following her. It’s odd, but he can’t seem to catch up.   
“HEY! EXCUSE ME!” He cries and begins to slow as he feels his breaths become more and more forced. His heart is pounding, his head is spinning and he prays the pain in his chest will subside. By the time he reaches the exit, the girl has already disappeared. Yamcha opens the door to the outside and is immediately exposed to the choking smell of cigarette smoke. He accidentally takes a lungful of the overwhelming scent and falls into a fit of choking coughs. He always hated being around cigarette smoke.

A guy off to the right of the open door lowers his cigarette quickly glancing at the doubled over male, but eventually returns the burning stick to his lips. Yamcha turns toward him, shielding his mouth and nose when they made eye contact. 

“She went that way, around the side. I’m assuming you were chasing that girl.” the man says pointing behind Yamcha, his thick eyebrows pulled down into his eyes before he attempts to relax his face. The man’s voice was raw and raspy scratching at Yamcha’s ears like gritty sandpaper. 

“Thanks, b-but I wasn’t following her.” Yamcha lies in a huff, leaning on the other side of the doorway, away from the man. He’s still got a palm over his chest his eyes trained on the graffitied sidewalk before turning back to the male.   
“You leave your group too?” Yamcha says, breaking the heavy silence, feeling his chest finally calm. The bald man bats his cat like eyes, extinguishing the cancer stick and slips on his emerald green varsity jacket over his heavily tattooed arms.   
“No. Waiting on my girl, Launch.” He leans back against the dirty bricks again, folding his huge, muscular arms over each other. He closes his eyes.   
“Better be careful down here. I can see this ain’t your neighborhood, pretty boy.” The guy says and Yamcha’s eye contact breaks from the distant skyline to look at him suddenly. 

The guy is as tall as him, but wide and looks like he lives at the gym. His head is bare and his skin is lightly touched by the sun, stained with tattoos where his hands are visible. There is one tattoo in particular that really catches Yamcha’s attention.   
“Why’d you get an eye tattooed on your forehead?” Yamcha says suddenly forgetting the reason he was even out here. The guy briefly opens a glaring eye, scoffing as if offended.   
“Don’t worry about that.” He growls, still leaning near the door. His feet are crossed at the ankle and his red converses are worn and dirty. The t-shirt he wore was lightly stained with something that made the shirt look dingy and one of the guy’s pant legs is tucked behind the tongue of his shoe. The stoic male appeared to be dangerous, but he gave off an air of passiveness. Yamcha was unbothered by both the man’s appearance and sudden tight-lipped response. 

A light, smelly breeze billows through as the two men stood in silence. Yamcha decided he would call Goku so he could go home, because he really didn’t want to go back and did just that. His cousin wasn’t too pleased that he hadn’t stayed, but tried his best to understand. As Yamcha gets into his car with his cousin, he glances back at the male on the sidewalk. At first he doesn’t realize that the guy still has his eyes closed but offers a wave. Without opening them, the male raises two fingers from his crossed arms biding him farewell.

Back at the apartment, Goku had started to whip up some lunch, music blasted from the stereo in Yamcha’s room and Puar seems to be fond of Goku’s presence. 

Upon seeing Yamcha, the blue feline let out a small meow, that could barely be heard over the loud, pulsing R&B song, and leapt onto Yamcha’s lap when he flopped on the couch. 

Goku took the remote turning down the tunes and retreated back into the kitchen, giving Yamcha a sideways glance along the way, almost laughing.  
“So, you like that dumb haircut?” He snorts. Yamcha stands to meet him in the kitchen.   
“I mean, I really don’t care.” He shrugs, hands deep in his pockets. He eyes the stain on the far wall near the kitchen table, shaking the negative thoughts away.   
“Well, I was thinking I could actually do what I planned, you look like a big toddler with your hair cut that way.” Goku reaches over and ruffles his short locks with a bubbly laugh returning to opening a jar of mayonnaise for his sandwich. In sudden annoyance, Yamcha pushes his cousin away, flattening his own hair back down.  
“Fuck you, bro.” Rolling his eyes he goes into the nearest bathroom to look at what Bulma had done to it. 

The room had been cleaned up a while after Goku rushed the man to the hospital. A new rug was placed in the same spot as the old one and no trace of vomit, blood or hair was present.

This was the first time in a while that Yamcha had actually looked at himself. He was a bit lighter than he usually was. His usual sun kissed skin now a paler version of itself. In the mirror he tried to focus on only his hair but kept making eye contact with himself. Dark circles ringed his eyes from the lack of sleep and crying, and his face seemed smaller in a way. He ate sometimes, if he had an appetite that day, and noticed he was losing weight. 

He hated looking at this person. He just wanted everything to feel normal again. Upon examining the dopey cut in the mirror, tears coated to his eyes. His long sideburns were still intact, but Bulma took to cutting it in a bowl-cut. The front came down almost over his dark eyebrows and the sides rested over the tops of his ears. The rest was equal in length. His ears were a bit big, though. 

He was trying to figure out why and how Bulma did this without an actual bowl. He let a chuckle bubble up from his throat, feeling foolish. Making eye contact again, he finally realizes that if he wanted progress he was going to have to suffer through things he hadn’t wanted to do. Sighing as he thought back to the community center, he swallowed hard. Did he have to go back there, though? 

Wiping his tears, he thought hard about giving it another try. Standing back he reached in the side drawer of the sink, pulling out a black tube of gel. Squeezing what was left of it into his hand, he began to run his wet fingers up through his hair, experimenting with the look. When he finished he stood back examining his reflection. It hadn’t looked awful, but the top was way too long and the rest looked messy.   
At some point Goku had made his way over and was watching Yamcha from the doorway.   
“I can cut it into something better, if you would like? I cut my son’s hair sometimes..when Chi lets me see them.”   
Yamcha continues to stare at his pointed hair in the mirror “Yeah. I’ll trust that you have better tastes than Bulma.” He laughs, thinking briefly to the topic of Goku’s family, wanting to ask about what happened. He really wanted a closer connection to what was left of his family, because all he really had was his cousin. And to be honest, he never knew why Goku showed up in the first place.   
“Yeah, I’ll make it fit your style.” A smile, hopeful smile bloomed on his face.


	6. What’s on your mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha continues to attend the help group, while Goku visits his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that this chapter would reflect on what happened after Goku left Yamcha in the apartment, but I ended up writing this instead. That was gonna be near the end as it was gonna be longer but...there’s like 3 hurricanes coming up the coast where I live and I wanted to put something out for you guys. I write and reread kinda slow so i ddnt wanna still be writing it and have no power and can’t post for a while. I hope this’ll do until I can be certain my house will still be in good shape after the storm. Yall stay safe out there. And hope this all made sense. 
> 
> Like my shit? Kudos my shit :)

Yamcha finds himself in another support group meeting the following Monday, after a whole week of slyly avoiding it. He makes his usual promises to his worried cousin that he’s not sure he can keep, but he does in fact end up staying the whole meeting this time. The man picks a different seat this session, with his chair facing the gym exit. One woman sat in between him and the girl, Phaedra. 

He threads his skinny fingers through his newly cut hair, feeling the difference between the length of the top and sides. The sides are cut to gradually fade as it reaches his cleanly trimmed side burns. It’s barely enough to even pinch, and the top is long, pushed back and slicked with a dime-sized amount of super-hold gel. 

The former bandit hadn’t had hair this short since he was in high school. It’s weird to not have his hair get caught in the neck of his shirts, or under his arms when he naps. He finds himself missing the weight of his usual waist length hair. However, Yamcha does adore the end result of this new style and enjoys how it makes his heart flutter with renewed joy. Beaming, Yamcha embraces his cousin in thanks afterward, taking him by surprise. 

Yamcha is normally a very confident guy, even in the face of defeat, and he longed to feel that way about himself again. It was crazy, really, how a simple haircut could make him feel like he was able to take on a mob. 

The lights flick on, illuminating the dark crevices of the gym during the session’s break. Yamcha blinks, flattening the folds in the soft cotton of his pants, clearing his throat. With a dry mouth, he stands to grab a drink from the refreshment table. Yamcha scoots his chair back loudly, attracting the annoyed stares of some of the women. Oblivious to them, his gaze curiously lands on a small photo posted on the group’s bulletin board, above the table, and this distracts him enough to overfill his tiny plastic cup. 

“Shit!” He hisses his voice hitching as he scrambles to wipe up the mess before anyone else notices, but of course there are others behind him, watching. He chuckles, his voice wavering and cracking when he realizes Phaedra is looking. She doesn’t smile or even offer a concerned glance but instead turns in her seat, continuing to text on her phone, unbothered.   
‘Great, now she thinks I’m an idiot.’ He thinks, ashamed, feeling his face heat. Maybe he’ll muster up the heart to try and speak to her one of these days. He had just been so caught up in looking at the photo, because he had mistaken the mugshot of a random man with his attacker.

After about ten minutes, all eyes are on Athena, the group leader as the seats began to fill again following the break. The scalding lights intensify the highlighter yellow of her t-shirt. 

“I would like to continue today’s meeting by allowing everyone to find a buddy. Find someone and get to know them. Learn their name, their favorite meal, what scares and excites them in life. Go for lunch, meet up for a quiet day in the park. Share your stories when you feel comfortable enough! See you all on Wednesday! Have a blessed day!” Yamcha almost swallows his own tongue. 

‘I can’t do this!’ he thinks in a panic, shutting his eyes, feeling his body trembling. He can hear shuffling and then a symphony of scraps and squeaks when all the others stand to begin finding their partners. It’s not the make a friend part that makes him hesitate rather, the share your story part that unsettles him. He’s still not entirely ready. He felt like he took a small step forward when he came back to this place but wasn’t quite sure how to take that much needed leap into the danger zone. To unbottle those capped emotions about a night he wished he could delete from his memory banks.

“Hey.” A voice whispers and he snaps his eyes open, forgetting where he was for a quick moment, lost in his frantic thoughts.   
“Sorry. S-something was on my mind.” He mutters, picking at his trembling hands. 

“That’s alright.” Athena says, beaming warmly down at him. Yamcha knows she means no harm, but her smile just annoys and unsettles him sometimes.

“Don’t be scared of us. We are all here for the same reasons, ok?” She begins to rub circles in his back with her hand and he jerks away. Yamcha stands abruptly causing his chair to tip, hitting Athena’s leg and it clatters abruptly to the scratched gym surface. The last of the group that still hung around were all caught off guard by the loud sound and their attention is pulled to the pair.

“How are we? What do you know? You’re just some random lady they put in charge of a group of-o-of..” he refuses to say the R-word, or anything close to what it was.   
He’s scrambling for something more to say. Sudden, building rage slowly grips him and tears prick at his eyes.

“Now, wait just a damn minute, sir.” Athena says, firmly. Her friendly and inviting facade drops. Athena’s usual sugary sweet tone is replaced with one laced with seriousness. “If you weren’t aware, I am just like anyone else in here. This community center employs survivors of physical abuse, alcoholism, drug abuse-the classes that are offered here? You better bet your butt that all of them are taught by people who know what it’s like to hurt! OR relapse! If you had stayed to hear the last of the first session you would have heard my story. I myself, faced sexual abuse for twenty years. My father was my own personal monster.” She frowns squeezing her own eyes shut, fighting her overwhelming emotions. “I apologize.” She sniffs. “I just have strong emotions about doing things like this. I invest myself in it.” She wipes a lone tear from her sparkling grey eyes, Yamcha stiffly stands listening, his chest filled with sadness and guilt. His mouth open in shock at the woman’s outbursts. “We, the staff understand as well as anyone what our members are going through, or atleast we try. I know I get extremely close to some of my group members. It’s just something I do, because I know it helps alot more than you guys just hearing me speak about the matter. We even learn things from the attendees, perspectives that were not once in the light.” She sighs seemingly exhausted, resting her hands on her hips. “I can see you are still in distress. I will not force you, I will not beg you to share those dark times. But we do focus on coping with those events, understanding that it’s not your fault. Moving past them.” 

Yamcha feels like a complete asshole, a total jerk. He hadn’t meant to make a scene, he was still not used to confiding in strangers and got emotional all too quickly. This was not like him to lash out suddenly. 

“I’m sorry. I just-“ he covers his mouth when a loud sob makes it way up his throat. He’s blinded by tears and they streak down his face and when the woman doesn’t interrupt he allows himself to weep. He feels frustrated at the whole thing, and desperately wants to speak of it, but the whole hospital situation exhausted and angered him further into keeping to himself. Even if he already told his story to the police and to his cousin. 

“You owe this to yourself, Yamcha. To heal.” 

Following the whole encounter, Yamcha has cried and cried until he felt nothing else. It feels good to let out these emotions and he takes deep breaths to still his rapidly beating chest. 

Stepping back out onto the stained pavement in front of the Center, Yamcha is again met with the funky stench of the South-side. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and he sniffs away snot. A light wind ruffles the tail of his mustard-colored jacket. He doesn’t immediately call for his cousin, as he said he wasn’t coming back until it “was time.” It was still pretty early. 

Yamcha fixes the loose strands of hair on his head and scratches at a spot on his bare chin, taking a seat beside the closed door. 

From his left he can hear footfall and sits up straighter, pretending to be on his phone. It’s Tien that rounds the corner, his shoulders hard and rigid and his hands pocketed in the thick cotton of his off-white sweatpants. He isn’t in much of a mood for chatter so Yamcha just sticks to pretending he’s sucked into the world of social media. The bald man ignores him, continuing on his way to the hospital where his little brother is in critical condition. The baseball player wonders what’s so wrong that he can’t even acknowledge him, but then again, he doesn’t even know the man to begin with. 

After half an hour of Yamcha being alone in his thoughts, Goku rounds the block in Yamcha’s car, driving almost into the wall near the seated man.   
“GOKU!” He screeches tossing his phone as he hauls to his feet and away from the grill of the red sports car.   
“Oh god! Sorry Yamcha!” Goku says, fixing the car along the side of the walkway, an anxious grin and a heavy blush crosses his handsome face. The grin is forced and rubs Yamcha the wrong way and he is immediately alerted to the thousand-yard stare in his cousin’s eyes when he averts his gaze. Picking up his newly cracked phone with a huff, Yamcha dusts off the seat of his pants and takes the wheel, forcing Goku to ride shotgun. 

“What was that earlier?” Yamcha says in the near darkness, interrupting the action film they were watching. Goku is laying down across the half of the couch near the wall in Yamcha’s living room, while Yamcha occupies a small area at the left end. His legs are crossed and Puar is resting against his knee. Goku doesn’t immediately answer, just stares glassy-eyed at the moving images on screen with his fist pressed against his head, supporting it.

“Goku? You can’t ignore me. I know something’s bothering you, bro.” Yamcha moves past the lit lamp to his left and turns on the room’s lights. Goku scratches a patch of fair skin on his abdomen under his shirt, moving to sit up.   
“I-“ He wipes a hand across his face in exasperation. “I went and visited my kids..” Goku lets out a whistling breath through his nose, his brow furrows “Goten acknowledges me, but doesn’t really care for me, but Gohan..he acts like I don’t even exist.” He stands, starting to pace and Yamcha can see how stiff he is. He’s ready to blow.   
“T-talk to me cuz. Let it out, it’s me, alright? We’ll get through it together.” Goku turns, staring holes into Yamcha, who doesn’t falter. Yamcha is determined to make it a point to talk out their issues, starting now. After a few minutes of Goku filling the deafening silence with his heavy footsteps and labored breaths, he speaks. 

“Chi Chi was at the house with the other guy..I lost it when I seen him with her. I punched him.” Yamcha shakes his head letting out a quiet breath. 

“Goku, you can’t just go around attacking people. We’re grown, there are other ways we can go about things.” Yamcha feels strange at this end of the stick, since recently it had been him being comforted. He really hoped he was helping, God knows how much Goku aided him with what he was going through. 

Goku is trembling in renewed rage and Yamcha beckons for him to sit. He eventually does, taking a seat to the right of him and continues after a sharp inhale. 

“Yamcha, this guy almost looks exactly like me. It’s strange..e-except for his eyes and that stupid accent.” Yamcha is slightly confused, but continues to listen, silently calculating a response.   
“Chi Chi kicked me out after I broke the guy’s nose. It just pissed me off. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. Just-let me see my boys!” Goku clasps his hands together, pressing his lips into a tight, white line. He rests his elbows on his bouncing knees, staring almost lifelessly at Yamcha’s wall of most worshipped guitars. Yamcha swallows, weighing the words in his head.  
“Do you love them? Your kids?” Is what comes first.  
“Yes.” The giant replies, without hesitation.   
“When you and Chi Chi were together, were you there for them? For her? When they needed you?” Yamcha mutters, feeling the huge wave of guilt as he reflects upon his past sins involving Goku, abandoning him. Goku hesitates. Lowering his head, chewing his full pink lip.   
“I was.” He states firmly, lying. “I-I mean..I tried.” He corrects himself, voice wavering. Goku flops onto the back of the couch. 

“Chi loved me..when no one else did.” He covers his mouth with a fist, his face reddened and for the third time that day Yamcha felt guilty. “I still love her. But I guess she just..felt neglected.” Yamcha mentally connected the dots and guessed that Chi Chi was someone Goku met after he had been gone, and Chi Chi must have essentially taken his place. She was his new comfort and shoulder to lean on. He just couldn’t figure out what went wrong, and where.

“Cousin, I have to tell you something.” Goku says that distant look in his eye returning as he suddenly switches the subject, through heavy sobs. Yamcha doesn’t reply, just waits, softly stroking his resting pet with his eyes resting on the coffee table’s reflective, and brightly lit surface.

“I know you wonder why I’m here. Why I’ve been here at your house for a while.” Goku sniffs, uncovering his mouth, tears streaking his cheeks. He rocks back and forth, fighting a mental battle he is determined to win. 

“I hadn’t been able to find a proper job..after all that happened..with dad.” Yamcha feels a cold shock course through his veins. He hasn’t heard about his uncle in years. He’s not sure he’ll be able to contain himself if Goku tells him something bad.   
“What is it Goku. Tell me.” Yamcha replies without a beat, in a breathless whisper. He’s not entirely sure he wants an answer, yet he is prepared. His mind flashes back to the small, dirty house they once lived in as kids. Memories both good and mostly bad flip through his mind.   
He still hates his uncle with a burning passion. But, he is determined to hear his cousin out. Bardock was the reason he fled. Yamcha didn’t want to imagine what his cousin faced on his own. 

“Dad..died.” Goku says shakily, more tears spilling from his glassy brown eyes.   
“How. Tell me how, Goku.” Yamcha replies, his voice also trembling. He faintly remembers hearing commotion around a criminal case, a while after he ran away, when he went into a local bike shop to use the bathroom. He was mostly ignoring the tv, but caught a few words while he passed by. But, he was still in denial that it was anyone he knew.  
“I killed him.” Goku breaks and Yamcha feels more ice course through his veins and a heavy pang in his chest. His unblinking, blurry brown eyes fall on Goku and he isn’t breathing. Yamcha’s weak heart is thudding so heavily, he imagines the sound resonating around the apartment. He knows he might need his pills, but he doesn’t move.   
“Yamcha. I-I killed my own father!” Goku screams covering his face. Yamcha isn’t sure whether he’s relieved that a man like that is gone or deeply saddened by the unfortunate circumstances. He feels his own tears fall and moves to hold his cousin. 

“I can’t believe you had to face that alone. I love you like a little brother, and I’m truly sorry.” Goku uses the neck of his shirt to clear his wet eyes. Yamcha is at a loss for words, his emotions running wild inside him. He wants to know what happened between them, it isn’t in Goku to hurt out of malicious intent.   
“Everything started going downhill. I was arrested, I couldn’t graduate, everyone knew who I was because of the news..I couldn’t really find a job that would hire me. Chi is from South Korea so she wasn’t familiar with the case for a while. Even after she overheard all the details, she still accepted me, and we fell in love.” That was the most Yamcha had heard about the man since Goku arrived.

“I won’t ask anymore questions tonight. You’ve cried enough. And I’m not sure my heart can take anymore.” Rising, with Puar in hand “We’ll get through these things together, I promise.” And with that he embraces Goku before heading to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank yall for reading my shitty stories. I really appreciate the feedback I get and I have more things on the way (one-shots, short stories) just tryna get these two stories a good spot before I wrap my mind around more. I will be updating Toxic, just kinda got stuck in a weird block. Yall have a good week!


	7. Reconnected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha and Goku go to have lunch at a nice place on the opposite side of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven’t forgotten about this or my story Toxic. Just been “down in the dumps” the past few months. 
> 
> I hope this story makes sense, and if it doesn’t I’ll try and fix it. I really do love this one. I’ve been working on a shit-ton of others that’ll go up soon (I just put a Yamcha Chi-Chi fic up. Go tell me what you think of the first chapter) So please don’t be upset. 
> 
> I don’t own these characters so don’t snatch my wig. Love yall :) Enjoy.

In the early hours of the next day, Yamcha jerks awake in a drenching sweat. Another horrible nightmare starring the blue-eyed psychopath and his accomplice plaguing his thoughts. At some point during the night, Goku made his way into the room and is now passed out spread-eagle on the floor near the foot of Yamcha’s bed. He is missing his shirt and socks. Only a pair of orange basketball shorts cover his lower half. He will not be waking up anytime soon, for Goku is a very heavy sleeper.

Wiping his half-dried tears, Yamcha stands dropping his comforter over Goku’s shuddering form and moves sluggishly to the bathroom to freshen up. He moves across the carpeted floor dragging his feet, his eyes barely open to tell where he is headed.

 

Over his shoulder, he can hear his cousin stir with a faint breath and the light pitter patter of rain follows the small snort he lets out. As the rain picks up, Yamcha feels relief travel from the depths of his feet in a tingling wave, up and throughout his tired limbs. It finally leaves his mouth in a refreshing exhale. Which, from the smell, reminded him, he needed to brush his teeth. In the bathroom he leans across the smooth surface of the counter lazily, before reaching into the medicine cabinet for his toothbrush.

 

———

 

Yamcha stands under the hot torrent of water letting it beat down on his soaked tresses and body. The intensity and pressure of the spray massages his exhausted form. The rising heat opens his pores and he feels like he can breathe properly. Yamcha can’t help but to think back to the events that took place not too long ago, feeling the same mortification envelope him as it did those several weeks ago.

 

_-A week after Yamcha overdoses-_

_Yamcha flinched awake, gasping for air behind the weighty oxygen mask. He made the mistake of opening his eyes too fast and the bright lights blind him. The man is disoriented and confused as to where he is, but he didn’t take another chance to look and instead lie weakly, and listened to his surroundings. The first thing he noted was the constant chime of a machine that slowly returned to it’s normal pace once Yamcha managed to calm himself._

_At first Yamcha can make out chatter and he wasn’t sure if it was in the same room, but then he cracked an eye open and could see the moving, blurred colors on a mounted television. When his vision finally clears, he could see that on a small mounted television, reruns of a show are playing. A show that he remembered from his time with Goku and his father._

_Without moving a muscle, he allowed his dry eyes to scan the room, catching the dying sunlight outside the curtains. He always hated hospitals. It could be that they were associated with sickness and death, especially in movies and tv shows, one of which seemed to be a big part of his life._

_A part he wasn’t yet aware of._

_The stale, sterile atmosphere wasn’t welcoming, no matter how well they tried to spin it on tv. Hospitals were creepy and often cold._

_In his peripheral vision, he catches a splash of the color red and carefully turns his head to see what the object is. It’s a card, signed by Goku that is written in his signature small, scratchy handwriting. The only thing he can make out from his position on the bed is “I’m sorry” in bold, black smelly sharpie. His heart jumps uncomfortably in his chest at the sight of it and the bundle of colorful balloons tied to the foot of his bed makes him sigh._

_Seeing the get well card and other items slowly brought back parts of the depressing memories of another night he would always regret. He felt like he was too drained to cry but still hot tears rolled from his crusty eyes._

_Still exhausted, Yamcha tried to fight the strong pull of the sandman’s embrace for as long as he could, until his eyelids sunk as if weights were attached to them. Goku entered the room shortly after his cousin closes his eyes again._

_He found that his nightmares had become really bizarre, but still touched on the same bits that traumatized him. In Yamcha’s reoccurring dream, he walks alone along a concrete path. The surrounding darkness is enough to suck him into it’s ominous embrace and the sidewalk never seems to end, stretching on for miles and miles out in front. Oddly enough, despite there being no source of light, the path continued to stay illuminated. The athlete keeps a brisk pace, but eventually realized something was following. He physically cannot look back, for some odd reason, and was forced to keep moving forward. That creeping feeling of being watched and followed horrifies him, and his bare feet began to smack against the pavement as his light jog quickens to a tiring sprint. That’s when he realized he’s fully nude. Yamcha’s vision is shaky and blurred and suddenly his movements slow down tremendously. Still, his body moves until there is literally nowhere to go. His trembling hands meet a brick wall at the end of the sidewalk._

_“Boo.” The nasally voice was loud in his ears, echoing around the vastness of the abysmal darkness. Dread stabbed into the man’s chest and he spun around only to face his usual stalker. The figure was so huge that Yamcha could not make out a head on it’s towering form, just the fluorescent blue eyes watching him like a hawk. It’s head shrouded in darkness._

_There in the distance was another pair of huge blue eyes staring him down. He was trapped against the wall. It always ended the same, with the figure in front reaching down for him and he realizes he’s on his knees. He let out an odd sound that he couldn’t understand, but he figured it was his dream self’s way of pleading or crying. Then as the figure unzipped it’s pants, he woke up._

_Upon his second time awake, Yamcha felt less tired, but still quite weak. He again, hesitated opening his eyes as the room was still brightly lit. Goku was there, passed out in a chair right by his bedside. Again, mortification and guilt burn Yamcha’s chest._

_“I’m sorry, Goku. That I have brought you so much trouble.” He whispers, mostly to himself. Yamcha wants so badly to hug the man for saving his life, because he knows no one else but Goku managed to get him here in time. When he closed his eyes for what he thought was the last time, the final thought in his mind was that he had made a big mistake._

_The athlete felt hunger pains deep in his empty stomach and groaned shifting a little in the firm bed. His companion does not stir, not even when he mustered up enough strength to reach out and finally touch him. The bigger man’s head lolled back over the seat’s edge and Yamcha is sure from his disheveled appearance that the other has not changed clothes from That Night. He wondered if Goku had even left the whole time he was checked in there._

_Feeling the uncomfortable pinch and pull of tubes running in and out of his arms, Yamcha still managed to reach out and shake Goku’s moist knee. Yamcha then realized just how much paler and sickly his own skin looked upon seeing it near his cousin’s. Goku tosses his head in his sleep from one side to the other and Yamcha is slightly annoyed. He hesitantly dropped his arm back to the soft sheets, eyes frantically searching for another way._

_He began to understand that maybe this was a good thing. Maybe he wasn’t ready to face his cousin right now._

_When was he going to stop running and face the issues at hand_?

 

Yamcha is still standing under the shower spray as it runs cold. Eventually, it gets to the point where Goku almost takes the door off the hinges to see if his cousin is still breathing. Besides, he hadn’t answered the millions of times Goku cried out his name.

 

“I-I’m fine! Just uh..thinking..” he says loud enough for Goku to finally hear him.

 

“Open the door so I can pee!” Goku shouts back and Yamcha moves to turn off the running water. Grabbing a towel, he quickly dries himself, wrapping it around his waist tightly before cracking the door open to allow Goku to enter. The cold air of his bedroom overpowers the warm moisture of the bathroom. Yamcha doesn’t make eye contact with Goku, just presses himself against the wall and quietly exits once given an opening. As children, the two had no problem being shirtless or even fully naked around the other. It never used to be strange, but this felt strange.

 

Goku knows there is another bathroom at the front, but he uses this one to have an opportunity to check on his cousin. He didn’t feel like there was an issue with what he had done, but when he watches Yamcha peel out of the room, he thought twice about his own actions.

 

Yamcha was feeling weird again, and he knew he was going to be like this the whole day. It upset Goku when Yamcha got like this, but he understood that there was really nothing he could do.

 

_“It’s alright.” Goku said tightly, moving to stand near the open door of the hospital room. He was hurt. Extremely hurt by these events. At first, when he wasn't certain if his cousin would ever wake up again, he was heartbroken. Goku bawled like a child at his bedside for hours, hardly slept and just watched over him. On the third night, Goku ended up walking down to the hospital gift shop for things to put by Yamcha's bedside. He found a red get well card, what he remembered to be Yamcha's favorite color, and some balloons. Looking back on it, it was mostly to make himself feel better. At that point he thought he was too late._

_Yamcha’s throat was dry and rubbed like sandpaper when he spoke. “Goku. I’m sorry, please don’t leave.” He says quietly, willing his tears to subside. Goku still hadn’t moved, his eyes remained closed, his nose flairing like that of an angry bull as he bit down on the inside of his cheek._

_“I just—I wanna know why? What’s so—“ he stopped himself, bouncing one foot rhythmically against the cool, white tiles while the other pressed into the wall, supporting him._

_“What was the reason? What made you so upset that you thought you had to take your own life?” Goku was staring at him now. The hot knife of guilt pushed through Yamcha under Goku’s scalding gaze._

_“GODDAMMIT YAMCHA! TELL ME!” Goku screamed, his big brown eyes wild and searching as he stalked closer. He slammed the door on his way over to Yamcha’s bedside, alerting several nurses outside the room._

_Yamcha flinched, blocking out the memories of both nights in his mind. The intense burn of his chest as he could feel his heart pound, and his pleading cries plaguing his mind as warm tears continued to rush down his tired red eyes._

_He was going to burst from the pressure of it all._

_Yamcha hadn’t expected full sympathy, but he felt Goku was going about this the wrong way. Goku felt that he had a right to be upset. It seemed like a pretty hurtful and selfish act to him._

_“I—“ he gasped behind the mask, choking on his own words. Goku gripped the collar of Yamcha’s thin gown, baring his teeth at him. “Fucking tell me!” His own face wet and red. Yamcha’s insides ached and he felt scared, but gulped down the terror._

_“I was..raped, Goku.”_

 

“You hungry? A guy from work took me to this nice place on the south side of town.”Goku starts, watching Yamcha strum the strong, shiny strings of one of his beloved acoustic guitars, Lily.

 

“I thought you hadn’t found a job, Goku.” The man spoke, letting his experienced fingers run up the neck of the instrument and rest between frets. He hadn’t looked up, continuing to softly pluck out a familiar tune.

 

“I said I had trouble finding one, not that I didn’t have one now.” The younger of the two answers. Yamcha stops playing for a moment, the front of his hair drooping down over his thick brows before he pushes the loose strands back, under his headband.

 

“Oh.” He mutters, and Goku continues watching his cousin on the bed. Yamcha’s skinny fingers work the strings recreating a softer, slower version of Stairway to Heaven. It’s peaceful, amazing even. Goku knew that Yamcha had an interest inmusic ever since the two of them had snuck into the city and saw a homeless man playing his guitar.

 

_“It was my father’s. He was a modest, honest man, who cherished the way music brought people of all backgrounds together.” Yamcha was rooted to the spot near the man, swaying as if in a trance as the stoic man played. Faster more upbeat songs made him bounce from foot to foot and slower more serene songs made him close his eyes, swaying in adoration._

_The boy returned everyday to hear the man play, even when the street lights came on and his uncle waited at home for his return, a belt in hand._

_Rain or shine._

_Goku figured it was a great escape, but it didn’t have the same spell on him as it did his cousin. The man’s favorite song to play was a classic one, a tune that was soft but held a cheery tone and made you nod and sing along once you knew the words. One that seemed to temporarily erase the anxiety and stress from the bodies of the people who happened to be nearby. It was the first song Yamcha learned to play when he had gotten his own guitar, with his own money. A song he played constantly until not a single note was out of place and his hard calloused fingers plucked expertly at the strings. He soon went back to show the man what he had learned, eager for his praise, but by that time the embrace of death had already swept him away_.

 

“Come on, I’m not leaving you here by yourself. You need fresh air. We’ll have a nice lunch, listen to the live music and relax.” Goku began to pull on a black t-shirt, before making a brief exit into the living room.

 

_Goku is taken aback by his cousin’s words. He lets out a bark of laughter in disbelief._

_“Quit being funny there’s no way you—“ The elder of the two breaks eye contact, closing his eyes for a second._

_Goku felt like a complete asshole, once he realized there was no joke. Why couldn’t he do anything else but get angry? But laugh?_

_Before he can say anything else, the room door flies open. “Is everything alright in here sir?” The nurse says, giving Goku a hard stare as he still held onto Yamcha’s collar. Goku finally peels back his own hands, lowering the man carefully back to the bed. With shifting, worried eyes, he weighed his cousin’s words once more. Everything he had found did make a ton more sense. The bruises, the hair pile, the blood and shredded clothes..._

_“Yes. My apologies for making such a scene..” The woman moves further into the room to check on the man in the bed, and Goku shoves past her and the security in a hurry and down the hall._

_This was all too much._

_He makes it to the elevator before he collapses, vomiting right as the doors open with a ding._

_Yamcha isn’t sure when they made it to the car, but they did and he blinks, glancing over at his cousin in the driver’s seat._

 

“Goku.” Yamcha says, waiting for a response. Goku pauses at the sound of his voice, resuming his actions, buckling his seatbelt and starting up the car. “Yeah?” He’s watching Yamcha in the corner of his eye. The man is facing forward and stiff as a board.

“Thank you. I—I know this whole thing hasn’t been easy for you either. And..I guess I mean what you’ve gone through with your dad..and what you’ve helped me get through.” Yamcha lets out a shaky sigh, and it sounds like he’s about to cry again.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, but I’m thankful to have you by my side again. It means a lot, and I hope it means something to you too.”

 

Goku’s heart thumps hard against his ribcage at the mention of his father, he presses his mouth into a tight white line. He does not reply. The pain was still extremely fresh to him, but soon he would have to let Yamcha in on a little secret he learned.

 

The drive to the south side was quiet, only the low hum and buzz of the radio filled the air. Yamcha leans toward the window, with his head against the clean glass. He watches the scene change from spotless, clean buildings and surrounding areas to slightly run down, graffitied ones and lightly littered walkways. The smell of the air was totally different too, something funky Yamcha can’t quite place.

 

“What’s the place called?” Yamcha asks, breaking the near silence. Over Adele’s soft voice Goku replies. “Azalea’s Kitchen. Pretty great food, I had the loaded potato soup last time.”

 

“And this job you have, how long have you had it? When were you gonna mention it? And who is the guy from work?” Goku adjusts himself in his seat, smoothing a hand over the warm leather of the steering wheel at a red light.

 

“He’s..actually a friend I knew from high school, the guy who recommended this place, and who I work with sometimes. His name is Piccolo, really cool guy. And I’ve actually had this job for about a few weeks now, it’s a lot of lifting and moving and sometimes we farm, but the refreshments are good and the pay is pretty great.” The light turns green and Goku moves the car into the right lane to turn.

“And I didn’t realize I had to fill you in on everything. I’m a grown man, Yamcha.”

 

“Well I would like to know, since you have my car most of the time, how about that?” Goku’s brows pull down into his eyes with a frown. What was with his cousin today?

 

“Dude. I don’t know what your problem is today, but I don’t like it. I’m just trying to take you somewhere I know you’ll enjoy. And if it’s such a problem to have your car, I’ll walk, I’ve done it so many times before.” There is a pause, and Yamcha doesn’t immediately respond. He knows he’s being petty and snappy. Today just didn’t seem like a great day.

 

Pulling into the parking lot, Goku immediately shuts off the car turning to his cousin.

“Yamcha, I want you to feel better. I want you to feel like you.” He lets out a short breath through his nose. “This doesn’t have to rule you, stop it.”

 

“Yeah? And what the fuck do you know? Huh?” Goku’s eyes soften, he looks away.

 

“Look. I don’t want to argue with you. I just want..I just want you to be ok.” Goku says quietly, looking hard into his cousin’s matching brown eyes before turning and exiting the car without another word. 

 

_“C’mon.” He says, slamming the door and walking toward the restaurant’s entrance._

_“Oh my goodness! Sir are you—“ The voice says and the kneeling male looks up into the face of his estranged wife. She previously had her arm linked with another man’s. A man that looks almost identical to him._

_“Goku? What the hell, are you alright?” Chi Chi screeches, looking away from the mess, disgusted, as the man beside her reaches out to help. Goku snatches away, snarling at the pair. He stands to his full height, locking eyes with the slightly shorter male. His skin is two tones darker than Goku’s, a light bronze, and his eyes are a smoky grey. When he smirks up at his near-twin, dimples indent his perfect face. They are both dressed in scrubs, Chi Chi’s being purple and his black with a red long-sleeved shirt underneath. Goku caught his last name from his nametag, Rosé. He immediately knows who this could be and notes that Chi Chi does not work on this floor._

_“Is there a problem, Goku?” The man says with a very noticeable foreign accent. Goku closes his eyes, refraining from choking the guy out. He finds sudden amusement in the fact that he could easily get away with it. Besides, who could stop him? With heavy steps, he finds his way to the stairwell._

_Wiping the remains of his accident from his mouth, Goku still tries to wrap his mind around the fact that his cousin went through something so humiliating, so disgusting. Goku also understood his own reactions may have caused Yamcha more distress and for that he was very ashamed._

_“He’ll never forgive me after this.." He says quietly to himself, leaning heavily against the cold rails of the stairs._

_Yamcha feels his heart racing and he’s having a hard time breathing. He’s trying to make himself calm down to tell the nurse he’s alright._

_“Yamcha, honey take deep breaths, you’re fine. It’s alright.” She says, tweaking things to the best of her ability and giving him medication to relax him. By just talking to him he begins to calm down, she continues to guide him to take deep breaths for a few minutes to slow his heartbeat. When his doctor finally returns to see him, he delivers some heart breaking information._

_Turns out the fatal mix of sleeping medicine and alcohol weakened his heart. The doctor said it’d be best to take it easy for a while or he could go into Cardiac arrest._

_“But..I play professional baseball! This can’t be real!” Yamcha feels like he wants to scream, but thinks twice about that when his chest begins to burst with excruciating pain._

_“I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t partake in activities that stressful on your body for a while. It’s time to put the bat and glove down. Think about your health.” Yamcha can’t believe the words coming from the man’s mouth. The last thing he really adored, the last thing he was actually good at was no longer an option._

_He felt so hollow, so numb._

 

Inside the restaurant, the strong scent of various foods make their mouths water. Yamcha can’t quite place what it is. The lights are low and play off of the shiny surfaces of the bar and clean, waxed floors. The ceiling is lined with priceless chandeliers and small potted plants hang from various spots. The tables are covered in cloths, the color of an earth-toned green, and the walls are that of an earthy orange. Heavy, expensive looking dark burgundy plates dot each one. In the corner, nearest the bar, there is a large space set up for a small, live band, who seem to be preparing for another song. Yamcha’s eyes widen with interest as he looks around at the many posters slapped on the warm walls. They range from musical legends from several different eras to local music groups and art events. The restaurant air is filled with soft chatter from it’s many patrons.

 

“Hi, how are you guys doing today? Welcome to Azalea’s kitchen. Table for two?” The hostess chirps. “We’re doing alright. Yes, thank you.” Both the men say in unison.

 

They are guided to a table in the front, near the band and the hostess reassures them that this was the best seat in the house. Yamcha had no doubt about it.

 

The place was a hidden gem. It was literally inside of an old building that, on the outside appears to be nothing interesting. You’d really have to be from around to know it was there.

 

The food was incredibly good and the band radiated nothing but good vibes and amazing talent. They played any song requested but mostly stuck to R&B and Hip Hop. Songs that kind of made you roll and move in your seat, songs good for the soul. It helped to create a tranquil atmosphere in the restaurant.

 

“Goku, this place is..great!” Yamcha smiles, genuinely. His heart jumps with joy hearing a song that he hadn’t heard in years, almost making him want to get up and dance. Yamcha slurps a big spoonful of his loaded potato soup and is almost mad that he’d never heard of this spot, as the hot liquid slides down his throat. He’d have to be very careful eating just anything. He wanted to stick to a better diet so that he didn’t cause anymore problems concerning his heart.

 

Goku is too busy nodding his head rhythmically to the smooth beats banged out on the drums and inhaling his bowl of soup. His other two plates are wiped clean.

 

As the next song plays, Yamcha sips on his cold lemonade, letting it inch down his throat as he listens thoughtfully.

 

**“My intuition is telling me there’ll be better days..”**

 

He’s never heard it before, nor does he really listen to rap, but he likes the sound. Yamcha feels relaxed and calm. The woman singing the hook had a nice, fluttery voice that caressed his ear drums ever so pleasantly. His stress and fears seem to temporarily disappear. Then came the next part:

 

**“My intuition is telling me there’ll be better days. I sit in silence and find that when I meditate my fears alleviate, my tears evaporate, my faith don’t deviate, ideas don’t have a date....”**

 

Goku watches his cousin thoughtfully, feeling a wash of relief come over himself. He’d like to think he was doing all he could to help Yamcha feel ok. It wasn’t much, but he tried anyway.

 

After their plates are taken away and the check is left, the two sit in companionable silence amongst the restaurant’s ambiance.

 

“Pretty nice, right?” Goku hums, patting his full stomach, yawning and stretching lazily.

 

“Yeah it’s..” Yamcha glances past Goku, over to the doorway, spotting a small, woman who looks awfully familiar, then, wiping the thought away dismissively, focuses his attention back on his cousin.

“I-it’s really great! I really appreciate it.” He almost doesn’t want to have to leave.

 

“No problem. I could live here, their food is legendary!” Yamcha laughs at this. His cousin wasn’t wrong.

 

Outside, the bright arms of the sun reach out, almost blinding the two. They exit the small building feeling pretty satisfied. Their hunger sated.

 

“You have to work later?” Yamcha asks, picking meat from his teeth.

 

“Yeah, I do actually.” Goku replies, walking along, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

 

“Ok. I can take you. It’s no big deal.” Yamcha says, patting his cousin on the back before muttering out an apology for his previous outbursts about Goku and his car.

“It’s cool. I feel like a mooch sometimes, but I’m working to fix things for myself.”

 

From around the corner of the old building, Goku spots someone he knows.

 

“Hey Piccolo! What’s up? The place was great by the way!” Yamcha watches his cousin talk to the man, from behind, and he marvels at how tall the guy is.

 

“Yeah, my aunt knows how to run things. Who’s your friend?” He rumbles out in a deep purr. Piccolo towers over the both of them. He was tall, muscular and fairly good-looking. He wore a cotton, white track-suit jacket that did nothing to hide his firm muscles and broad shoulders, and matching pants. It was a very stark contrast to his dark skin. The sleeves of Piccolo’s jacket were rolled up to his elbows and a purple t-shirt peeked out from where the zipper was pulled halfway down his torso. A backwards purple cap sat on his head hiding his fresh haircut.

 

“That’s the cousin I told you about, that’s Yamcha.” Yamcha offers a short wave, and Piccolo acknowledges him with a nod.

 

“What’s up man? I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Call me Piccolo.” The man offers a fist and Yamcha bumps it with his own.

 

“Nice to meet you. And this is a great place your aunt runs, man.”

 

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell her.”From around the same corner of the building comes another individual who is absorbed into her phone.

 

“Cousin P, is Yanna out yet?” She says and the male shakes his head with a no. Yamcha finds the voice familiar but cannot see her due to Piccolo’s incredible size.

 

“No Phae. I was just going inside to see what the issue was.”

 

“Phae? Phaedra?” Yamcha squawks, side-stepping the giant and catching the girl’s attention.

 

“Hi! Nice seeing you outside of that place.” Yamcha says, offering a small smile down at the girl who looks almost startled. Piccolo narrows his eyes at him. He gulps, suddenly understanding that he probably shouldn’t have done that.

 

“Are you two-“

 

“This is my cousin. Chill out.” Piccolo says and moves to let the girl stand at his side, hugging her to him protectively.

 

“You know him Phae?” She glances up at her family member, and then to the two men looking at her expectantly.

 

“Yeah, from the community center. That group meeting I go to..” she mumbles, looking back down at her phone.

 

Yamcha’s face burns a bright red as Piccolo looks him over. At first his gaze is heavy and calculating until he realizes just what “group meeting” his cousin attends. Then his eyes soften significantly and his dark, chocolate orbs snap away with a heavy awkward cough into his closed fist.

 

“Oh. Yeah..”

 

“C’mon before they leave!” The girl types on her device, giving Yamcha a side-eyed look. She felt uncomfortable under all the stares and was tempted to run inside to find her best friend.

 

“Well..I think we’re gonna head out now. Nice meeting you Piccolo. Nice seeing you Phaedra.” Yamcha says stiffly, nodding at them both and attempting to step around the two. A hand clamps around his arm and he almost thinks it’s Goku’s.

 

“Wait!” A woman’s voice sighs out from behind, confusing him. Turning to confront the person, he realizes it’s the woman he noticed in the doorway when they were eating.

 

“Wow. You look just like dad.” She says, dropping her fingers from his arm before jumping to hug him. Yamcha is shocked and even more confused, but still feels like somehow she isn’t crazy and he knows her.

 

“Dad? Who are you?” His stomach is in knots and he’s shaking.

 

“It’s been a long time, little brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ku-do?  
> For yo dude though? 
> 
> Sorry..y’all probably would have hit me if you heard me rap it out loud. 
> 
> If you notice Yamcha is almost always in a story it’s because I genuinely like him. Some of yall just jump on the hate bandwagon. Show my dude some love, please. (Says this on a story where he is sexually assaulted...) ...Have a great week/day/Christmas/Life :)


	8. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yanna sits the guys down to prove that she is in fact a relative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s good guys? I know there are a lot of unanswered questions like “What happened to Goku? Why is he not in jail?” Or “How did Yamcha even end up living with his cousin?” “Will the two women killed ever be mentioned again?” They will be answered. I’m trying my best to make this story make sense.

 

“I saw you. At the restaurant, while we were eating..” Yamcha speaks, breaking the heavy silence between the group. 

“Yes.” She sighs, “I’m aware of that.” The woman, Yanna, bites her lip before continuing. “I saw you too, but it was a passing glance, and I thought no, maybe that’s not even him and went on about my business. But, when you guys left I felt..as if I missed something. And I’ve never felt like that seeing or talking to someone else I thought was you.” She wrung her hands together nervously, looking off toward her darker companion who was seated beside her. Piccolo casually hung around the entrance, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his pants. His inky black eyes flicking between the small group and others in the restaurant. Watching over them, almost as if he were a guardian. 

Yamcha gives Goku a wary glance as the two sit across from the two women. To finally have a look at both of them together, his cousins, Goku thinks Yanna does look an awful lot like Yamcha. For instance, they both held the same basic features. Both possess the same unruly jet black mane of hair, thick eyebrows and the same crooked breath-taking smirk of a smile. Their matching chocolate eyes shine with the innocence similar to that of a small child. Same thick lips, hell even the way they drew out words almost sounds like one in the same. The only real difference was that one was a man while the other was a woman.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was just excited to see you!” The shorter woman speaks, trying to keep her hold on a wiggling toddler in her arms, a child that they hadn’t noticed before, back at the restaurant. Goku catches Phaedra’s wary gaze drifting toward the child and quickly snapping away almost in what seemed to be disgust. It was almost alarming, but he had to admit to himself that he couldn't worry about that at the moment, although he was wondering where the baby came from. He had never once seen or even heard of the child the last time he was with them. 

“I..would be too. But, excuse me if I don’t believe everything you’re saying.” Yamcha clears his throat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hi! My name is Moni! But my mommy calls me Momo!” The toddler chirps, leaning over the table to her left to wave a little hand in front of Goku’s face from across the table.

“Hey there pretty girl! I’m _Goku_!” Yamcha watches the interaction between the two, with a small, comforted smile. The girl was adorable and he watches her grin from ear to ear at his cousin’s comment. Her little round face squishes together as she smiles showing off her little teeth. Her haunting blue eyes were a stark contrast to her dark skin, a skin tone that seemed to almost match Phaedra’s. Her dark hair sat atop her head in a huge, curly puff, that occasionally tickled her guardian when she moved about. Nothing else about the baby seems to catch his immediate attention, so he turns back to the matter at hand with bated breath. However her gaze almost reminded him of a certain someone.

“Hi Gogo!”

“I’ve got things to back up what I’m saying. I promise. I understand if this is all weird to you. I’ve been trying to find you..for years.” Yamcha was in disbelief at her words.

“Yanna is it?” She nods offering the most comfortable smile she can muster. Yamcha clasps his hands together thoughtfully, his dimming gaze falling absentmindedly on the head of another person far across the room. Right now he wasn’t sure what emotions to express. He wanted to be hopeful, maybe that his parents might still be alive, or that this woman was actually telling the truth. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help but to think that maybe she was just an obsessive fan-girl that “knew” him from seeing him on tv and lots of extensive research. Sadly, it had happened before, and even in his head Yamcha hoped he hadn’t sounded full of himself.

The girl was pretty overwhelmed by the whole thing too, and was unconsciously trying to quickly find a way out. It wouldn’t be that easy though.

“Hey? What happened to your face? How’d you get that nasty scar?” The woman says, reaching out and merely skimming a finger over the raised skin before Yamcha snaps away.

 “Don’t change the subject. Tell me why I should even believe anything you’re saying?” Yamcha says firmly, warranting an answer. Yanna gives him a hard stare. He couldn’t help but sound annoyed.

“What reason would I have to waste your time? To lie?” Some things about him were already common knowledge because of his time with the Taitans baseball team. If she was telling some truth, she’d show him some legit proof.

 “Show me something. Anything that’ll make me believe you.” At that her brows rise. She flicks through her phone for a bit while they all watch her. Yamcha and Goku both exchange small glances at the almost strange action.

“I was sure you were gonna wanna see something, if I ever found you. I took a picture of this photo from the old photo album. The other stuff is at the house with Grandma Yo.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, a light went on from the mention of that name, but he ignored it for now.

Both men lean in to focus on all the figures in the picture, on the small phone screen.

“That’s...definitely my dad.” Goku laughs incredulously while pointing to a tall man in the right side of the picture holding a small infant, presumably him as a newborn baby. Yamcha watches his whole face morph. His eyebrows are basically at his hairline from the pure shock of seeing this little treasure. Yamcha has an equally surprised expression as he begins to use context clues to identify the others in the photo. Yanna gives the two a long while before helping to identify anyone.

“That’s dad in the chair, mom sitting beside him on the floor..” Yamcha’s eyes scan the two and he doesn't register what else she says right then. The man is lounging in an overstuffed recliner chair with a lazy smirk on his handsome face. His eyes are a shining, bright emerald while his short messy brown tresses are grown down and around his big ears.

“You..really do have features of the bothof them, Yamcha.” Goku gasps, trying to reassure the man, while trying to also control the wild emotions inside himself, from seeing the photo again. After quite some time. Yamcha doesn’t say much as his eyes flick between the dark-haired women on the ground and the man. The woman’s hair is like a dark frame, a stark contrast to her milky complexion, while the man’s complexion is that dark, sun-kissed glow that he and Yanna seem to have. Where he, Yanna and his dad all have long straight noses, full lips and thick brows, his mother’s are quite the opposite. Her lips are small, her brows are thin and arched and she has a tiny button nose. In her arms she holds a toddler. The baby has a tiny index finger in the side of his mouth, and his big brown eyes resemble that of the women holding him. His hair is a messy nest of onyx that covers his big ears. The child is standing as the women holds onto him loosely from behind, a dinosaur onesie set covering his little figure.

“That’s you.” Yanna says, pointing at the child. For a moment, Yamcha stares at his younger image with a pounding heart. His hands are trembling as he reaches out to take the device from the woman to get a better look at the couple near him and also the girl sitting on the ground near his uncle, Bardock. That had to be her, it really did look like her. At that point, his emotions swirl and mix into a strange brew of intense sadness and increasing anger.

 _“What are they like?_ ”

 

 _“Do they miss me?_ ”

 

“Where are they?” Is the first thing he says a little too aggressively, catching some of the patrons’ attention in the small cafe, while simultaneously startling Momo.

“Yamcha!” Yanna snaps, mostly about scaring the baby, and signals for Phaedra to take the crying child away after wiping her wet eyes and comforting her. Yamcha tries not to scream, like he really wants to and Goku thinks he can slip away unnoticed to leave the two alone for a moment.

“No. This is your family too.” Yamcha growls, gripping hard at his cousin’s shirt to still him. There was something else that didn’t sit right with this whole thing, and it made Yamcha desperate for Goku’s company. Infact, this whole encounter had. He didn’t want to face this alone. Goku also seems to be acting sort of off, but he can’t point out the exact problem. 

“Listen..I don’t think we—“

“Where ARE they?” He says louder, causing the women to narrow her eyes in warning and his cousin to place a hand on his arm. Piccolo rises from his spot by the door.

“Calm down! I don’t think this is the right place to tell you.”  

“Well, when and where is the perfect time?! Don’t you think you owe me an explanation as to why my own family abandoned me?” He stood abruptly, causing his chair to fall and clatter loudly to the floor. Heads turn and the restaurant went almost completely silent, minus the sounds of the televisions.

“No one abandoned you. They loved you! They loved us! How dare you talk that way about them..” When Yanna stands out of frustration, Goku also stands, gesturing for both parties to simmer down. The siblings do not notice all eyes on them.  

Yamcha was suddenly livid, recalling times when he would ask his uncle where his family was. His uncle's response was always that they didn’t want him. Bardock told him that his parents tried to give him away and that if it weren’t for him, he’d probably be dead or in the street somewhere. The young boy was brainwashed into thinking these awful things, and so over time he had stopped searching for answers.

Unsure of how to deliver the terrible news, Yanna calmly searches her phone for his answer. Before either man can protest, the female turns her phone screen back toward them with trembling hands. Yamcha’s hard brown eyes instantly connect to hers in frustration, but snap to Goku when he hears his cousin let out a heavy, depressing breath, dropping his defensive stance. As a reflex, his gaze turns toward what causes Goku’s surprise and in return a heavy sadness pulls at him.

 **“Han Family Fire—Holiday tragedy”** the picture of a newspaper article reads. In black and white is a picture of a small, burning house. Yamcha’s eyes continue to dim, and Goku fixes the fallen seat back under him, coaxing the other into it before checking to make sure he’s ok.

“Yeah..I’m-“ Yamcha’s chest burns and his head begins to spin and tumble. Goku notices and moves but is stopped when Yamcha just holds up a shaky, pausing hand to stop him. The familiar sting of rising tears haunts him and to that he abruptly stands. Having had enough for today, the heart-broken male stands, headed for the door.

“Yamcha, wait!” The woman calls, causing her brother to pause in his staggering steps.

Outside, Yamcha manages to pull himself together enough to face his sister again.

“I’m sorry, Yamcha... That you had to find all this out this way.” They share a long, emotional embrace as the others look on. “Please, take my number and maybe sometime when I have a day off I can sit down and talk to you again. Or you could just call and talk to me sometime.” He nods almost mechanically, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

 

-2 hours later-

Yamcha is standing at the edge of a freshly-painted off-white porch staring out at the darkening horizon. By this time, it’s well passed time to go home as he watches the sun melt and bleed across the sparkling water. A light breeze ruffles his short hair and clothes sending a small chill up his spine and kicks up some of the sand on the surrounding beach. He is just waiting for Goku and Piccolo to bring his car back so he could go curl up and cry in his bed at home.

The whole situation with his sister was just eating at him and he was anxious to meet up with her again. Why he should even care about his parents kept combating the overwhelming, creeping sadness within, but he just knew that his life, and possibly his cousin's could have been drastically different. He just wanted this whole day to end, honestly. Everything was making his head hurt and his heart beat way too fast for his liking. Yamcha was questioning everything, from what Yanna had said all the way back to how he even ended up with Bardock. 

“Beautiful isn’t it, son?” A raspy, grating voice says just from beside him. The old man chuckles, noticing that he has startled the younger man. Nevertheless, he keeps further amusement at bay, moving to adjust his shades. Yamcha nods, pocketing his hands with hiked shoulders as another breeze sweeps passed his bare arms, also stirring the many handmade wind chimes lining the roof. The sound is a deep comfort that causes him to relax a bit."

“You could always come in and have lemonade with me and my grandson. Don’t stay out here all night.” To that, the older man turns to head back inside. The thumping of his small, vintage cane stops registering in Yamcha’s mind when the old man passes over the threshold into the interior of the large condo, closing the door. Eventually, when the sun is completely submerged beneath the simmering blue ocean does Yamcha head inside.

“Close the door behind ya, son!” The man raspy  from another room. It’s awfully quiet and to Yamcha feels strangely welcoming, even if it is a complete stranger’s home. He isn’t even sure why he is still there and stands against the sliding glass door, awkwardly. He seems to have entered the kitchen as there is a small glass dining table with four red chairs to his right, an expensive looking handmade chandelier above it and pots and pans hanging above a stainless steel sink to his left. Black granite counter tops line the left side of the small kitchen as well as divide that area from the dining area. A pitcher and two glasses sit near a thick wooden cutting board near a small cream colored microwave. Green tiles cover the expanse of the floor.

Suddenly, from a stairway to the right in a circular archway, someone descends, holding a small, squealing pot-bellied pig. The man notices him, placing the pig down by his side before it scurries off toward Yamcha, sniffing curiously at his shoes.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” Tien grunts, hands on his hips. Yamcha doesn’t immediately say anything.

“My cousin works for uh..”

“Muten Roshi. My grandfather.” At that, Yamcha points as if saying 'that’s it, that’s the answer I was looking for.'

“Yeah, well..” Tien huffs with a roll of his eyes, swiping a hand across his faltering expression. Something must really be bothering him too.

“Me and the old man are just upstairs playing cards.” With that, he pads across the large kitchen floor into a pantry to find something to feed Oolong, his grandfather’s pet pig, heading back upstairs soon after. The defeaning silence is back after the man leaves, and Yamcha is lost amongst it. His mind a haze of unanswered questions and interrupted thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you to all who read my trash stories. I appreciate you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy? Leave a comment, heart my story or some shit, lol. 
> 
> Love yall


End file.
